Beyond Hope
by cadenza
Summary: *CHAPTER 7 & 8 UP* Pilot copes with bickering shipmates, a rogue builder & some very complicated science! Moya puts her foot down and Crichton makes an acquaintance. D’Argo, Macton Tal and Oricans. Some of it may even count as D’Argo angst! AU S4
1. Ch1: Sitting in my tin can

BEYOND HOPE 

By Cadenza Smith

Acknowledgements/disclaimer: the FS characters aren't mine; they belong to that nice Mr. Henson and his Sci-fi friends. I can safely promise not to make any money out of this so please don't sue me.

This story follows immediately on from the final scene of Series 3, episode 22: DW2Bs. While I wait for Season 4 to begin here in the UK, I've made up my own version of how and why they all meet again.  AU after S3.  
  


PART 1: LOST IN SPACE...WITHOUT A MAP...AGAIN! 

**CH1 Sitting In My Tin Can**

**CH2 Déjà Vu?**

**CH3 Escape**

**CH4 Life Is A Roller Coaster**

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SITTING IN MY TIN CAN 
    
     ..."You have got to be kidding me!"

John stared into blank, black, endless space. Hope momentarily nipped outside and he slumped back into his seat.  "Frell, and double frell. What the hezmana am I supposed to do now?" 

His mind raced as he sized up the situation. Where had that wormhole come from? How the hell was he supposed to get back to Moya now...and, rather more urgently, how was he going to save his backside - with limited oxygen and even less fuel?

"What did I do to deserve this? Don't I have enough crap on my plate already?" 

His mind, ever willing to join in, replayed his latest disaster.

Aeryn had left him. She was gone. She was pregnant. She had not told him. But he loved her! Why wasn't that enough? Why did the women in his life always leave him? Why? Why? Why? If he ever again got his hands on that loony creep who'd cloned him...too late. If only. No. Don't go there. 

D'Argo. D'Argo had gone off on some foolhardy warrior quest for vengeance, Chiana had skipped away keen to offer her services to the Nebari resistance. God help the resistance. Even self-serving Rygel's squirty little presence had skedaddled off to add to his cousin's woes and reclaim his throne. 

And now there was no Moya. No leviathan net to drag him to safety and no Aeryn to guide him! God he missed her already. He was alone. Totally alone – like never before. 

For a moment he let the full weight of the situation wash over him causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end and his insides to tie convoluted knots even the navy would be proud of. A restless nest of rattlers settled in for the duration.

They had all gone. All his friends. Like Zhaan. They couldn't help him now. They had places to go, people to see. Reasons for their lives. And he had? He had Aeryn. And she was gone. She didn't want him. She had rejected him. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? What was the point? What did any of it matter now?

Tears filled his eyes and he angrily wiped them away. He was getting maudlin. He had to stay focused. Concentrate on the situation in hand. This was no time for giving up. He had to get to Aeryn, make her understand – now, more than ever. Nothing else mattered. 

"Well", he said to the void pressing against his windscreen, "no use raging or giving in: no one to rage at, no one to surrender to and the oxygen ain't gonna last long. Gotta get me a plan."   

He felt a subtle movement behind his shoulder.

"Harvey?"

"Yes John?"

"Any suggestions?"

"We're gonna die."

"Thanks Harv', very helpful."

"You could always cry for help?" Harvey spat back. His eyes flicked to look out of the cockpit. He turned his attention back to Crichton, lent forward and whispered in John's ear, "Or you could create a wormhole." 

"I don't know how. Remember." 

"Most of it's here John. We just have to work out the last few bits." 

"Yeah the bits that mean I don't turn into fruit cup at the other end. And what's all this we crap? You aren't going anywhere with me."

"No John. You're not going anywhere without me."

The idea briefly crossed John's mind that even after death he might not be free from the neural clone. It wasn't a happy thought.

"I'm working on it Harvey, believe me, I'm working on it."

He banished the clone back to one of the old war movies that seemed to keep him occupied. That should shut him up for a while. He needed to think. Could he create a wormhole? Dare he? It was true he was starting to see how various bits of the jigsaw might come together but could he abracadabra the whole shebang? He'd come through safe once; perhaps he could do it again. Where to? Home. Right now he really wanted to go home. Call DK. Go for some beers, lots of beers and then watch a good game on the box with pizza, and drink a few more beers. He sighed. Even if he had a map for home, he couldn't go. Not now. He didn't know where else he should aim for. As usual, he didn't even really know where he was right now. Other than lost in space, again. There was definitely a pattern forming in his life. 

He had to think of something to try. What other options did he have? He hit the comms button but it told him that there was nothing in range. The sensors weren't registering any wormhole or even proto-wormhole readings. It was too much to hope that Moya would suddenly come bursting through a wormhole. He peered out of the window. Nothing. He didn't have enough fuel or oxygen to get to the nearest inhabited planet, Xelp Xelp 77. That was where Chiana and Rygel had gone. It was supposed to be a small trading post. They'd hoped to get onward transport from there. It had sounded to Crichton, when Pilot had been describing the place to him, that they'd be lucky if there was one passing bus every half cycle. 

He laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. Time to make a decision. 

He reached towards the back of the module and pulled out his rucksack. He scrabbled around inside for pencil and paper so he could try to calculate a wormhole trajectory. It really could be his only way out. He pulled out his notebook. A message chip fell out with it. He picked it up, wondered why he had it and with a shrug, tossed it back into the bag. 

He laid the notebook on his knees and began studying the star charts he'd carefully put together over the past three cycles. He looked at his most recent entries. He turned a few pages further back and saw the charts he knew had been added by the other John. He flicked forward again. This was not going to help him. He looked at the calculations he'd jotted down. He began scribbling numbers onto a clean page and began to work out a plan. 

He worked on the complex calculations in silence for over an arn until a brilliant white light suddenly illuminated the cockpit. The darkness was cut by a spreading mass of rippling blue-white light. The light swirled and coalesced. There was a wormhole forming. John dropped his notebook and pencil and stared for a moment at the incredible sight in front of him. He began to prepare FS1. The wormhole formed quickly. A Leviathan shot through. Its fast speed caused John's module to spin out of control. 

Harvey appeared in the cockpit, dressed in army combat fatigues.  "What are you doing John? Are we under attack?"

The module continued to spin out of control. Then it stopped. The module began slowing moving towards the now resting Leviathan. It was being pulled in. They were using the docking web. 

"That's not Moya, Harv'." 


	2. Ch2: Deja Vu?

**Ch2: Déjà Vu?**
    
    Where John Crichton is saved…or is he? 
    
    **"To be living for you is all I want to do…" **
    
    ** Today, Jefferson Airplane!**

Space. A small alloy based module is drawn towards a gleaming golden brown leviathan…it's sole occupant, an unlucky American astronaut, peers out of the window as his craft is sucked into the gaping hole in the leviathan's side….

--------------------------------------

**DÉJÀ VU? **

The young leviathan shimmered as it burst through the wormhole, its sleek body glowing with power. It felt exhilarated. Synapses fired, nerve endings tingled and every cell in its body buzzed with excitement. It had no idea where it was and only a dim recollection of where it had come from but that didn't matter. Here was good. Here was a wide-open space to play in. It made a wide arc and swooped through the sky, filled with the joy of being alive. As it completed the manoeuvre it became aware of a small metal object spinning nearby. Its curiosity piqued, the leviathan circled back, slowing down as it passed the object. What was it? It wasn't big enough for a planet and it didn't appear to be either asteroid or meteor. It sensed life coming from inside but it didn't appear to be one like itself. 

It felt no fear of this object but it did experience something else, what was it, nervousness? Trepidation? These were new emotions for the leviathan and although not unpleasant sensations, an inner voice seemed to urge caution. Another voice, not its own, entered its consciousness, and seemed to be telling it to do something. The leviathan listened intently as the strangely familiar voice issued a short series of instructions. The cadence of the voice began to exert a strange power over the young leviathan's exuberant will. The thought of ignoring or disobeying never entered its ever-developing mind. It loved the voice. It wanted to please the voice and it felt quite natural to obey the request. The leviathan initiated the sequence to unlock the docking web and once more it felt the intoxicating surge of energy as its vast body responded to its will. 

"It's not wearing a restraint collar so it's not Peacekeeper," Crichton mused.

"So who is it?" said Harvey.

"How should I know? I've tried calling them but they're not picking up the 'phone."

"You're taking this very calmly I must say," the neural clone remarked.

"No choice. And anyway, these guys, whoever they are, are saving my butt."

"What for John? And for how long?"

The module reached the docking bay and settled on the ground with a heavy thud. The hanger was deserted, no other craft or welcoming party, friendly or otherwise, was in sight. 

John Crichton tucked Wynona into his flight suit, pushed back the hatch of FS I and clambered out of the cockpit. He took a quick look around him to confirm he was alone and to confirm that this was what he thought it was: the Hammond side-docking bay of a leviathan. He let himself drop to the ground. The sound of his boots hitting the floor caused a low echo to reverberate around the cavernous space. Again he looked around him. Still no one appeared. He was beginning to feel just a little bit spooked. 

"Anyone here?" he called out. 

"Here, here, here," came the reply as his voice echoed through the empty chamber.

Harvey stood beside him. "Be careful John," he warned. "It might be a trap."

"Yeah right. Trust me Harvey, I've had some experience in these matters and usually when I'm captured there's some ugly looking critter sticking a pulse rifle in my face." Or a DRD zapping me, he added to himself, remembering his first arrival on a leviathan.

"This is not Moya," Harvey replied, reading John's unspoken thoughts. 

"No, but it's a leviathan. Come on let's find Command. And butt out of my thoughts, okay?"

"You don't want to get cloned again do you?" Harvey continued unabashed.

Crichton stopped. He took out his pulse pistol and set the charger to maximum. Harvey was right. No point taking chances. This time anyone who looked or sounded even remotely deranged was going to die straight off, before they had the chance to wreck what little was left of his life. Not very fair but hell life wasn't fair. After three cycles in the Uncharted Territories he reckoned he could write the book on that one.

Crichton made his way along the leviathan's corridors towards Command. He carried the pulse pistol in his hand, lowered but ready if required. Harvey chose to walk beside him. He didn't object, in fact he was secretly rather grateful for the neural clone's virtual presence. 

The corridors looked exactly as they had on Moya: gentle curves and beautifully proportioned arches. As he ran his hand along the walls, Crichton noticed that the passageways did, however, appear slightly smaller than on Moya and had far fewer side corridors running off them. The leviathan had looked huge from the outside but Crichton began to wonder if perhaps, like Talyn, this was a younger creature than Moya. He hadn't seen any DRDs yet either.

The layout of the Leviathan was sufficiently similar to Moya, however, to allow him to reach the central control room with little difficulty. The door was open. John walked inside. It looked like it was an exact replica of Moya. He went quickly from one console to the next checking the various monitors and confirming his initial assumption. Everything appeared identical. The only difference was the clamshell. There was no image of Pilot, of any pilot, displayed within its maws. He moved back to the navigation console and read the data clearly displayed on the monitor. According to the readings he was exactly where Moya had been. Deciding he had nothing to lose, he pressed the controls on the console trying to call up the flight planner. Nothing happened. The image remained the same. The controls did not respond to his touch. He tried the comms system. That didn't respond either. Perhaps there was a fault. Only one way to find out, go find the Pilot. 

He headed back out of Command. It took a little longer to find the Pilot's den. He took several unintentional detours along the way, allowing him to find several more empty chambers. The leviathan appeared to be totally devoid of life, and Crichton began to suspect that it had never been inhabited. He reached the entrance to the den. This door was closed. John paused before swiping his hand across the control panel. He took a deep breath, raised Wynona before him and hit the button. He was half expecting it not to work so he wasn't surprised when the door failed to swish open at his touch. Nonetheless he still swore.

"Frell."

He hammered on the door. "Hello, anyone in there," he called. "Open up. I haven't come to harm you," he added. Silence. The door remained resolutely shut. Crichton tapped his fingers against the unyielding barrier. It was always the same. He always ended up having to do it the hard way. "Harvey, you know the way into Pilot's den from underneath?"

Harvey appeared at his side. He looked thoughtful. "Well to be perfectly honest John, I'm not sure. I could try though," he added, unexpectedly helpful for a change.

-------------------------------------------------

John was now lost inside the leviathan's air ducts. He had remembered Pilot's den had air vents so he reckoned all he and Harvey had to do was locate the pipe that ran there and hey presto! This was, of course, proving easier said than done. He had lost track of how long he had been crawling on his hands and knees along the leviathan's lower tier air ducts. He hoped he was heading in the right direction. He had gone back to Command first to see if he could call up the leviathan's blueprints but the controls had again failed to respond. So it was a case of trial and error. He'd already gone down several dead ends but at least it had allowed him to work out that he seemed to be getting closer. He sighed. He was cold, tired and thirsty and was increasingly feeling like a laboratory rat in a never-ending maze. 

The leviathan sensed, rather than watched this strange creatures' progress along its inner arteries. It wondered what it was doing and why? Its presence caused it no pain. If anything, it was a rather nice feeling to have another being with it. It wondered what the little thing would do next. Should it try to do something to help? But it wasn't sure what exactly that might be and the voice had said to do nothing. So, obediently, it did nothing and waited for the voice to speak again. The voice would tell it what to do. But the voice remained silent. 

Crichton continued crawling, a small circle of light in front of him as he held the torch in his mouth. This was not a comfortable way to travel. At least there didn't seem to be anything icky lining the pipes. He continued along the pipe, muttering to himself, mostly about nothing and mainly to keep Harvey from chipping in with 'helpful' suggestions. So far his 'make-believe' friend's advice had proved unerringly wrong. He reached another division and paused. Left, right or straight on?

"Toss a coin?" suggested Harvey, the voice coming from directly behind him.

"Fuck coins!" Said Crichton with feeling. "Left. We're going left." 

It was a guess but one that proved to be right for once. A short crawl further and he hit another grill, which, peering through its tight meshing he could see seemed to bring them out at their desired destination. He could just make out Pilot's nest but the wire meshing made it impossible to see if there was anyone in there. Crichton took the torch from his mouth and tucked it into his belt. He replaced it with Wynona. He sat down, swung his legs around and bracing his arms against the sides of the wall punched his legs forward. The grill popped from its surrounds and fell forward with a satisfying clatter.

Crichton waited, waited for the phalanx of guns to appear in the hole in front of him. Nothing happened. He waited a microt or two longer and then, once again maneuvering himself around, began edging his way forward towards the rim of the pipe. He took the gun in his hand and poked his arm and head out. Still nothing. He looked quickly left and right. Nothing. He looked upwards towards the Pilot's den and cursed at what he saw, or rather, what he didn't see. There was no pilot. He lowered his weapon, ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. Now he was really confused. What was going on? If there wasn't a crew and there wasn't a pilot, who had initiated the docking web to bring him on board, who was controlling the leviathan? He extracted himself from the duct and stood up, groaning as he did so.

"What the frell is going on?" he said aloud.

"Indeed, curiouser and curiouser," replied Harvey.

Crichton shot his virtual companion a pained look and admonished, "this is not Alice in Wonderland Harvey. Come on; let's search this place. I wanna know what the frell's going on."

"I suggest we try the galley next," the clone answered. "You're hungry and you'll start to dehydrate if you don't get liquid soon."

Crichton nodded. His stomach made a small gurgling noise as if to add its vote to the suggestion.

---------------------------------------------------

That had been ten solar days ago. During that time Crichton had searched every inch of the ship but had seen no one and found no trace that anyone had been there before him. He hadn't seen a single DRD and had reluctantly come to the conclusion that the leviathan was working on its own, and ignoring him. He had tried everything he could think of to get its attention, all to no avail. Nor had he found anything resembling fuel.

The leviathan was providing air and light but that was all. None of the controls seemed to be working although he'd taken apart any number of circuit boards to see if there was a problem or if he could adapt them to respond to his commands. In a moment of utter frustration he'd even contemplated bypassing the creatures higher functions. He'd dismissed the idea immediately but it was a sign of his growing desperation that the idea had even occurred to him. Every thing he tried, failed and he was left back where he started: in a well-lit oxygen tent. 

He looked and smelt dreadful. His five o'clock shadow had lapped the clock several times and his lips were chapped and beginning to split. He had survived so far on the meagre condensation collected from the cabling in the leviathan's coolant system. He had been unable to find any food and he hadn't experienced hunger like this for almost two cycles, since the time Chiana had taken them to the mining facility on the budong remains in fact. The lack of food was beginning to take its toll and he was feeling constantly light headed and any activity was becoming more and more of an effort. 

He knew his body was using up what little spare fat he carried and soon it would start to break down his muscles. His belt was fastened several notches further in and his face had taken on a gaunt, harrowed expression. He wondered how much longer he could last. He hated the enforced inactivity. It was not in his nature to give up but he couldn't see what alternative he had. FS 1 wasn't going to get him very far and at least the leviathan was moving rapidly through space, albeit with occasional detours as it executed convoluted loops around any stray asteroid they happened to be passing. He wasn't sure where it was heading to exactly but at least it seemed to be moving towards an inhabited sector. If he had read the data right he would be within range of a small commerce planet in two more solar days. He had calculated that he would have just about enough fuel to make it there from the leviathan, if he lasted that long. If not…

Crichton leant against the navigation console and sighed. This wasn't how he had ever imagined dying. Of all the situations he had been in, before, during or after that fateful wormhole, this had never seemed the likely way he was going to die. Shot, stabbed, fried, dissected yes, but never starved to death. He had already begun to hallucinate. A strange wisp of smoke was now a regular sight as he made his way around the ship. He could see it now, lurking in the corner. He ignored it and instead cast his eye across the leviathan's command centre until his eyes came to rest on the clamshell where Pilot's face should be. He missed the guy, missed his gentle voice and calm efficiency that had been so reassuring during the many crises they had faced together. He hadn't even had a chance to say goodbye. He sniffed. Just someone else he cared for who he wouldn't see again. 

This whole leviathan déjà vu thing was frelling with his mind. It just didn't seem right to be on board one without the others. He kept expecting D'Argo or Chiana to come bursting in. Even hearing an eardrum piercing high-pitched shriek from Jools would be welcome. Instead there was silence. Total, eerie silence. 

Even Harvey had deserted him. After several tirades about resuming work on wormholes had been ignored, the clone had disappeared in a huff and Crichton had not yet found the energy to summon him back. 

His gait slow and unsteady, he made his way up to the terrace. He spent most of his time there, watching the distant stars. He found it helped pass the time. Yesterday he had thought he'd seen a prowler heading towards them and he had leapt up convinced it was Aeryn come back to find him. Of course he'd been wrong. It was just his mind playing tricks on him. But that didn't stop him looking, hoping.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, picked up his notebook and began to plot the course he thought he had travelled in the past few arns but his heart wasn't in it. He put down his pencil and rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin. His newly acquired beard was itching like hell. It might be the least of his worries but he desperately wanted to shave. He had resisted the temptation so far because couldn't spare the water it would involve and the idea of dragging a sharp blade across his dry skin was not one that filled him with any enthusiasm. 

He folded his arms and let depression take hold. He was getting weaker by the arn and soon he would die. There would be no one to mourn his departure and no one to get a message to Aeryn or the others. He would die without seeing any of them again and that stung him deeply. It hurt almost as much as the thought that he had failed Aeryn again and that there would now be two children in the Uncharted Territories who would never know their father. He didn't want to die like this or any other way for that matter. He wanted to live. He wanted to live for Aeryn. He clung to that thought as his stomach went into a long, loud lament about the serious lack of sustenance coming its way. 

He gazed into space. He remembered the times he had spent on the terrace with Aeryn, his mind lingering on the occasion after the Drax had nearly killed her and her smile as he had acknowledged her playful teasing. He gave an involuntary smile of his own at the memory. God, she was beautiful. He looked out at the stars. 'Aeryn' was clearly visible shining brightly against the dark vista, the star's brilliance throwing all in its reach into shadow. He smiled again. Just like the real thing he thought.

"Whatever happened to wishes wished on a star coming true," he grumbled to himself. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"John? Wake up!"

His eyes shot open. He looked up and saw Aeryn standing in front of him. He tried to get up but she motioned him to remain still. She knelt down beside him.

"What the frell are you doing here?" He cried, ignoring her gesture and trying to rise but falling backwards in his weakened state. He shook his head. "No, you're not here, you're a dream," he said, "a figment of my imagination."

She simply smiled at him, that rare smile that made him go weak at the knees.

He wiped his hand across his face, brushing away the tears that had sprung up in his eyes.

"Oh, if only you were here," he continued, reaching out to touch the imaginary face before him. "I'd do better this time. This time I'd do it right. This time you wouldn't walk away from me. Aeryn please, give me a chance, at least let me try!"

But she wasn't there. She was far, far away by now. Her trail was growing colder with every passing arn and he had less and less chance of finding her. 

His will finally broken, he let go. His body crumpled and he sank to the floor sobbing like a small child. His drew his legs in, his arms wrapping themselves instinctively around his body and he wept as his heart broke.


	3. Ch3: Escape

This was to have been part of the next chapter but I think it works better on its own.  
  
----------------------------------------------------------------

**3. ESCAPE**  
  
Life was fun thought the little leviathan as it flew happily flying alongside its mother. All around was dark open space with only a few stars twinkling in the distance. She loved listening to Momma describe the place they would one day visit together and the strange but beautiful creatures they would meet there. A land covered in mist and dense clouds where kind beings called cara-, the little leviathan had forgotten the name. Still, it all sounded very exciting and the child was impatient to get going. The little leviathan wondered if that was where they were heading now.  
  


Before it had a chance to ask, a ray of intense white light burst across the Mother's bow and the offspring heard her cry out. In the distance a big grey ship moved rapidly towards them. The light was coming from its prow. Fly; fly as fast as you can the mother called to her child. The little leviathan didn't need to be told twice. As it executed a quick about turn, the beam of light from the big ship struck its side and it howled in pain. It fled through space, its mother close behind. The big grey ship was following them. Another blast of the painful white light hit the mother. They continued to run, the grey ship still in pursuit and the white light still bursting intermittently from its nose.  
  


The little leviathan was growing tired. Its pace was slowing down but its Mother kept urging it onwards as the grey ship continued to gain on them.  
  
And then, suddenly, there it was, straight in front of them. Another grey ship. A blast of light flew from its nose heading straight at the young leviathan. Terrified, it almost froze in space. Its mother, already sluggish because of the repeated impact of the numbing white light, lunged forward and swung herself in front of her child. The beam caught her full on, illuminating her vast bulk in an incandescent glow. She let out a long, low cry of pain and then fell silent.  
  
The two grey ships began to close in on them. The little leviathan didn't know what to do. Calling desperately to its mother, it tried to rouse her. At first she did not respond. Then, in a quiet voice, she ordered her only child to tuck in close to her and she would demonstrate the greatest gift a leviathan possessed. Momma began to glow once more, her body a network of shimmering blue veins as she pushed every last ounce of energy into starburst. Her tail tips sparkled as she initiated the procedure. The little leviathan felt an incredible surge of power as they both shot forward. It was exhilarating. A few moments later they came to rest. That had been the most exciting thing the young leviathan had ever known. It asked if they could do it again but Momma did not reply.  
  
The little leviathan circled around its mother, calling to her again and again, wondering why she didn't answer. The leviathan edged in closer and closer almost nudging its mother with its body. Momma, Momma, Momma, it cried over and over again. But there was no response. Instead, the leviathan heard a new voice. It was telling it that there was a way to escape but that Momma could not come with them. The leviathan was scared the big grey ships might come back but it did not want to leave Momma behind. The voice sounded kind and inviting and the enticing whispers eventually broke down its resistance. Guided by the voice it launched itself into the swirling blue-grey vortex that appeared before it.


	4. Ch4: Life is a roller coaster

**Ch4: Life is a roller coaster**

**"Rage, rage against the dying of the light"**

**Dylan Thomas, Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night**

-----------------------------------

**4.  LIFE IS A ROLLER COASTER**

Crichton didn't know how long he spent lost in his misery but eventually he opened his eyes and roused himself. He unfolded his arms, put his hands to the floor and pushed himself upright. His sisters had always insisted that crying was therapeutic. Well, he'd cried but he sure as hell didn't feel any better. He wiped his nose on the back of his hands and tried to ignore the pounding in his skull. Frowning slightly, he massaged the crick in his neck, moving his head gently from side to side to ease the cramp. His vision slowly swam into focus as he looked around him. Harvey was sat cross-legged in front of him. He appeared to be playing with a knotted piece of string.

"Harvey, what _are you doing?" he asked screwing up his eyes._

"Cats cradle," the neural clone replied. "Amusing little game. Your sisters used to make you play it, don't you remember John?" He offered his hands to Crichton.

Crichton winced. He did remember, now the clone came to mention it. He waved the clone's hands away from him.

"No matter," said the clone, "I'm not here to play games. If you've quite finished with that ridiculous display, I think we should discuss what you are planning to do. You don't really intend to die here do you?" There was a hint of uncertainty in the clone's voice indicating that, despite his unparalleled access to Crichton's mind, he didn't yet know all its secrets.

"No. I don't intend to die. Although I agree the odds aren't in my favour just at the moment." He attempted a weak smile.

"John!" the clone's tone was sharp. "You must create a wormhole, you must get out of here. Or do you want this useless leviathan to become your tomb?" 

Crichton shook his head. 

"You can do it. You know how to create wormholes now and I reckon we're almost there on the 'fruit-cup' thing," Harvey added in softer tones, resting his hand on John's shoulder. 

Crichton brushed off the gesture with a quick shrug.

"I don't understand you, John Crichton. This is what you've been dreaming about for the past three cycles. A way home. Why won't you use it? Are you still so afraid that Scorpius will come after you? I'd say you are in more danger from him if you stay. Whereas, if you go home, he's unlikely to catch up with you during your lifetime, or his now, seeing how you've blown up his precious research. He'll have to start from scratch and I suspect getting the funding might not be so easy this time. Why do you refuse to -"?

" - Because I might never find my way back," Crichton cut in. "Don't you understand? Even if by some miracle I found the exit marked Earth, I might never find the one marked Aeryn Sun. I don't want to go home. Not anymore. Hell yeah, I'd like to get a message to Dad, to DK, to let them know I'm okay." He gave a dry laugh. 'Okay', that was stretching it at bit. "But-I-want-to-find-Aeryn-more." He spoke slowly, trying to stop the tears from once more spilling down his cheeks. "Get that into your stubborn Sebacean, Scarren, whatever, skull. Now leave me the frell alone, okay?"

"No John. This has gone on long enough. I will not leave you alone. You die, I die. And as I have told you before, I am not inclined to go gentle into that good night."

Crichton put his hands to his face and shook his head. "Not poetry, Harv'. Anything but poetry, please!" 

"So do something then. Really Crichton, I'm disappointed in you. You're no good to Aeryn dead." 

Crichton's eyes flashed at the Clone's remark. That hurt. "Just get the frell away from me Harvey," he said. 

"Very well. But I shall be back. I'm not finished with you." And with that the clone vanished. 

Crichton's shoulders sagged. Left alone he was tempted to howl in frustration. The clone had a point. Drastic action would soon be required. The hallucinations were a symptom of his rapid deterioration and if he was truthful he wasn't sure for how much longer he would still be capable of flying FS1. His gaze fell on the wisp of smoke that had taken to hanging around. "And you can buzz off too," he told it crossly. He shook his head, what kind of delusion was that anyway, a wisp of smoke? Perhaps he was further gone than he realised. 

He stood up, rubbed his hand across his stubbled chin and decided to go back to the Pilot's Den. Perhaps he had missed something. There had to be a way to get through to the leviathan, to get it to starburst so they reached the commerce system a little quicker. Well, he had nothing to lose. He bent down, picked up his pad and pencil and with a last fond glance at 'Aeryn', left the terrace. 

Had he stayed, he would've seen something interesting. The wisp of smoke grew bigger, thicker and gradually took on the shape of a man: a short, fat man with thinning hair and wearing a long white robe.

The leviathan continued to glide through space towards its unknown destination. 

Back in Pilot's den, Crichton clambered into the centre of the nest and stared at the control console around him. He gazed along the lifeless panels of red, blue and yellow buttons, checking that the layout was the same as on Moya. It was, as far as he could tell. So why wouldn't it work? He knelt down and peered into the hole where the Pilot should sit. There were dozens of shiny circuit boards and valves lining the walls. He had never seen the intricate inner workings before so he had no idea of what he was looking at or what he should be looking for. Pilot had always been there. He thought he could make out the interface where the bonds between Pilot and Leviathan would be made but that didn't help any. All he saw was a mind-boggling array of multi-coloured wires and empty sockets. He reached into his small flight bag and after a brief rummage around, pulled out a small tube of tools. He selected a screwdriver and stuck it into a socket at random.

"Oh great, now you're trying to electrocute yourself," said Harvey, from above him. The clone was laying across the back of console, his head resting on the hand of one propped-up arm. He was wearing a navy blue mechanic's overall, complete with grease and oil stains. The name on the left breast pocket said 'Harv''.

Crichton looked up and scowled at the apparition before him. "Go away or shut up. What I am supposed to do? I'm dying here man. I need your help, not your sarcasm." He waved the screwdriver at the clone's face.

Harvey didn't flinch. He raised his free hand and tapped on Crichton's forehead. "Wormholes John, wormholes." 

Crichton threw the screwdriver to the floor, pulled himself out of the hole and slumped down at the base of the unit. He was stumped. It would be so much easier to simply curl up and wait for the inevitable end. He sighed, reached out and dragged his flight bag to his side. He peered inside to see if any of the bits of equipment inside might give him an idea of what to do next. His cassette player was no use. He pushed it to one side and his eyes came to rest on the message chip laying at the bottom. He didn't know how it had got there. He was almost certain he hadn't put it in there. If he had he'd know what was on it, and to be honest, he didn't have a clue. Crichton pulled out the chip and turned it around in his hand eyeing it suspiciously. Only one thing to do. He pushed himself up and went to insert it into the control panel. He stopped mid way. He'd forgotten that nothing was working. He gave a single shake of his head and sat back down, tossing the chip away.

He sat, head in hands, going over and over his limited options until he was violently thrown on to his side. His tool kit hit the floor, the contents scattering across the slippery surface. Crichton barely had time to pick himself up before he was once again knocked to the ground as the leviathan took a sharp left turn, followed by a wide swing to the right. "What the frell!" He was on the floor again.

The leviathan had entered a small but dense asteroid field. It had a fascination for fast moving objects and, as soon as it had seen the wonderful playground up ahead, had raced forward eager to practice the twists and turns that gave it so much pleasure. It had been fun at the beginning; swooping first left and then right to dodge the boulders coming towards it. But now the rocks were bigger and there were more of them. It was beginning to find it increasingly difficult to stay out of their way. There were too many of them and they were coming at it too fast. 

A new sensation was entering its consciousness. It didn't yet have a name for it but whatever it was, it didn't like it. Some of the smaller rocks were beginning to get through and were ricocheting off its sides. The leviathan felt pain. It didn't like it. It wasn't nice. These objects hurt. In its heightened state it vaguely recalled feeling a similar sensation in its past. And then memories came flooding back. Momma! Where was Momma? Momma had made it stop it last time. Where was she now? The leviathan let out an enormous roar and hurtled forward.

Crichton heard a brief, but deafening high pitched wail and fell backwards. Harvey landed on top of him. Crichton groaned. "Harvey! You're not real. Get off me, already."

Harvey clambered to his feet. "John, I think we have a problem," 

"Frelling right we do," Crichton snapped back as he sat up. "And what the hell was that noise? Come on, we need to get to Command."

Easier said than done when you're being shaken like a margarita cocktail. John bounced off the walls of the leviathan but reached Command in one piece. He'd worry about the bruises and cracked ribs later. He didn't need the monitors to tell him what the problem was. He could see it from the windows. They were in the middle of an asteroid field. Whichever way he looked he saw rocks, big brown jagged edged rocks and lots of them. This was not looking good. He rolled his eyes. Why was it never easy?

He clutched the console in front of him as the leviathan twisted sharply to avoid a particularly large meteor that had suddenly appeared in their path. Crichton punched buttons on the panel in front of him, desperate to get a response from them but nothing happened. He glanced around Command looking for inspiration. He wished the others were with him. For a brief moment he closed his eyes trying to blot out the memories. When he opened them again, he was not alone. In one smooth movement he pulled Wynona from his holster and pointed at the being stood in front of him, his aim wavering slightly as he tried to keep his balance in the turbulence. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded.

"I am Kahaynu," the visitor replied.

"Zhaan said Kahaynu was an old guy with a beard. You're young, well youngish and you don't have a beard so how can you be him?" Crichton pointed out testily.

"He was Kahaynu. I am Kahaynu. We are all Kahaynu." 

"Oh! Right, of course. You messing with me?" Crichton listened in disbelief to the explanation offered him.

"Why should I do that? I have no reason to 'mess with you' as you put it." The robed man folded his arms.

"Hmmm, that remains to be seen." Crichton didn't believe the guy, everyone seemed to mess with him in the end. "So why are you here?" He lurched to the left but continued to point the pulse pistol at the white gowned, clean shaven man in front of him. 

"I control this leviathan." 

"You control it? That's why nothing works?" Crichton's voice was friendly but his gun remained pointed at the stranger.

"It is young. Many of its functions have yet to develop and it has not learnt of the gifts at its disposal." Kahaynu spread his arms wide as he spoke. 

"And that's why you're here. So where's Mom?" Crichton was having problems with this conversation. Zhaan had always been somewhat vague about her encounter with the Builders so he didn't have much to go on.

"This leviathan is a baby, not quite a monen old. It should have remained in its mother's care for some time yet but unfortunately that was not to be. The mother died."

"How? Why?" Crichton's mind raced as he tried to weigh up his options. He tilted his head to one side waiting to here what his unexpected visitor had to say.

Kahaynu sighed. "It is not important but I will answer. The breed known as Sebaceans, Peacekeepers, they attacked and tried to snare both mother and child. The mother lost her life saving her child. We became aware. It is not yet mature enough for the Bonding but it can not be allowed to roam free so it must be destroyed. I was sent to oversee its termination."

"What! You're here to kill it?" Crichton took a deep breath and re-focused his aim, he had no reason to care about this leviathan but he wasn't about to stand by while someone hurt it. Moya would never forgive him. For a brief moment Crichton also saw Aeryn dying under a volley of peacekeeper fire, clutching a child to her. He felt the muscles in his stomach contract and he swallowed hard.

"Yes. I am the executioner." Kahaynu replied softly. 

"Then why haven't you done it? And why did you rescue me?" Crichton kept his eyes fixed on the man in front of him.

"I find I can not do it. This leviathan has no evil in it and offers nothing but love. Its only crime is to have lost its mother. Should it be terminated for that? I will be dispersed when I return to Kahaynu but so be it. I hoped to evade my duty. I guided it through the wormhole." The Builder looked as if he was about to cry.

Crichton was once again thrown off balance, and not just by the constant swings of the leviathan as it continued to try to dodge the missiles in its path. 

"The leviathan responded to the sight of your craft," Kahaynu continued when Crichton had regained his balance. " I hoped to begin to teach it the nature of service."

"So why didn't you appear sooner?" Crichton asked rather more sharply than he intended but this conversation wasn't making any sense to him.

"I believed I had made a mistake. I detected evil in you. I still do. Yet you weep, you care. You resisted your thoughts of controlling this creature by force. So I watched and waited. You seem to know leviathans and I became aware you know Moya. We grieve for Moya and pity her loss even though her offspring was an abomination."

"Hey!" Crichton's eyes flashed as he heard Kahaynu's description of Talyn.

"It was a killing machine. That is not the purpose for which we created leviathans." Kahaynu's voice was flat.

The leviathan took a direct hit from a large meteor and Crichton was flung across the room. He picked himself up, retrieved his pulse pistol and turned once more to face Kahaynu. "If you're in control, can't you do anything about this? The kid is dying out there."

"It's too frightened to listen to me now. I am still new to it and it has gone beyond my reach."

"Frelling great. Is there anything else you can do? Like, give me control?" 

"The leviathan still needs to be calmed. Even if I were to reactivate the flight system, it would resist your commands," Kahaynu stated bleakly.

The Leviathan took a second direct hit, Hammond side. A large hole was ripped in its side and the impact knocked it straight into the path of another large meteor. This one bounced across the leviathan, tearing through the outer hull and ripping a wide gash along the length of its back. The creature let out a howl of pain and increased its speed through the field, flinging itself into ever more desperate and violent manoeuvers to evade the projectiles coming towards it.

Inside, John was once again thrown to the floor. He hadn't even begun to pick himself up before the second impact sent him rolling across the Command centre floor. His progress was stopped when he hit a bulkhead wall with his head. They connected with a loud thud. Crichton swore. He tried to stand up but toppled over immediately as the leviathan lurched to the left. So, on hands and knees, he crawled back to where Kahaynu stood. The Builder showed no sign that he felt the leviathan's erratic flight.

Crichton reached up and gripped the control panel with both hands before heaving himself upright. He took a moment to catch his balance before saying, "Well you better come up with something quick because otherwise both me and this little leviathan are gonna be history."

"You know how to fly this beast?" Kahaynu asked Crichton.

"Yes," Crichton replied slowly. The hairs on the back of his neck began to bristle and he just knew he wasn't going to like whatever came next.

"I can stun the leviathan for a short time but that will shut everything down. You will lose light and oxygen but it should bring the main systems back online," Kahaynu explained.

"Hold on, we don't know how big this asteroid field is, I need to be able to breathe in here and what happens if Junior wakes up?" 

"When she awakes I will try to get her to co-operate with you." 

"You said she? Junior's a girl?"

"Yes," there was a note of irritation in the Builder's voice as he answered. "Is this important?"

"No, just curious. Does she have a name?"

"Are you willing to try this or not?" Kahaynu snapped at Crichton.

"You think it'll work?" he replied.

"I don't know. I chose this creature's existence over my own and I do not care to sacrifice my existence for nothing. I wish to make the attempt."

And before Crichton could reply the Builder began to fade before his eyes, first becoming translucent and then reducing down into a small wisp of grey-white smoke. Crichton watched dumbstruck. He'd seen many unbelievable things since arriving in the Uncharted Territories but he never lost the sense of amazement each time he came across a new one. And at least he knew he wasn't imagining things. There had been a wisp of smoke. Swearing under his breath, he turned his attention back to the control panels. Nothing happened at first but as he watched the image on screen flickered and died. A microt later he was plunged into almost total darkness as all the lights went out. Crichton realised he was holding his breath. The auxiliary system did not kick in but the panels in front of him flickered back to life. The image reappeared on the monitor but this time it was not a static picture. The panel was showing the leviathan's course and registering the meteors in its path. By the looks of it they were already over half way through the asteroid field but there were still a fair way to go before they were in the clear. 

Crichton grabbed the joysticks and gave them an experimental nudge. The controls responded to his touch. He gave a deep sigh of relief and began to concentrate on avoiding the objects coming at him from all sides. He moved the controls cautiously at first seeing what they could do but soon the onslaught of asteroids left him manically pushing them in every and any direction. Even with good eye-hand co-ordination and quick reflexes he couldn't avoid all the obstacles being hurled at them. There were fewer direct hits but heavy rocks continued to batter the leviathan's outer hull, jolting Crichton away from the controls. Each time he was knocked to the floor he found it harder to get back up. He was in no condition for this task but there was no one else so he carried on, feet planted firmly on the floor and hands squeezing the controls, his knuckles white. 

-----------------------------------------

They had reached the end of the asteroid field, a few more rocks to avoid and then it was once more in clear space. The leviathan slowed down and began drifting forward. She looked a sorry sight, her entire body was pitted with craters created by the impact of the meteors and large sections of the outer hull were torn into ribbons. A tail tip hung limply from its stem. She was leaking fuel and several fires had broken out. The top tier was now almost totally open to space. Elsewhere, live cables hung loose from their casings and sparked, threatening to cause more fires. 

The leviathan felt numb and her mind was hazy about what had just happened. She remembered pain and then nothing. She thought she had heard the voice calling to her, soft and inviting. But she couldn't be sure. She had felt something else too, a force not her own acting within her. It had felt strange even if it had guided her to safety. The leviathan decided she needed to think about that. But sensation was returning and the leviathan was becoming increasingly aware of hurts and aches all over her body. She didn't know what to do. She felt lonely and abandoned. She wanted someone to make the pain go away. The panic began to rise once more.

And then she heard the voice. The voice was back! She immediately felt a little bit better. The voice told her everything would be alright, that the pain would ease. The leviathan gathered her remaining strength and set about doing what the voice said needed to be done. While she worked the voice continued talking in slow soothing tones. It explained that one day she would have a new friend and a new voice. The new voice would help her and make sure bad things like this didn't happen. She would like that very much.

Crichton stood in Command, his body drenched in sweat. His filthy t-shirt clung to his chest and he was breathing heavily. He released the controls and slumped against the bulkhead behind him. It had not been easy. The controls had gone dead several times and even when they were operational the leviathan had occasionally resisted his commands. But they had made it through in one piece. The overhead lights came back on and as he looked around him Kahaynu reappeared. 

"Will she be okay?" Crichton asked.

The builder looked sad as he replied, "she has sustained considerable damage but she will heal. I'm not sure she'll ever be able to starburst though. The tail tip will not re-grow."

"She's alive though!" Crichton gently patted the bulkhead walls of Command. "I know a lovely leviathan and Pilot that would just love to look after you, young lady," he said with a grin. His eyes twinkled as he turned to Kahaynu. "You can locate the whereabouts of any leviathan?" 

"Yes," the builder replied with only a slight hesitation.

Crichton nodded, clasped Kahaynu by the shoulder and said, "then here's the plan…" 


	5. Ch5: Flying Solo

PART 2: CHANCE, COINCIDENCE, FATE 

This is about Aeryn on her own, moving on but ending up in the last place she wants to be…along the way she makes a discovery, meets an old friend and gets into very deep dren. ****

**CH 5. FLYING SOLO**

**CH 6. GHOSTS**

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5. FLYING SOLO "I hated you, I loved you too. Bad dreams in the night…" Kate Bush, Wuthering Heights 

"Fly safe," Aeryn whispered. She bit lip and held her breath. Cry? Don't cry? What difference did it make now? Her face crumpled and tears tumbled down her cheeks as her sleek black prowler burst away from Crichton.

28 arns later and she had reached her first destination. She felt dreadful. She had flown without stopping for the only trading centre within prowler range, Xelp Xelp 77. She was no longer used to such long, uninterrupted flights and the cockpit stank of stale sweat and urine. She had been sick a short while ago and now the stench of vomit filled her nostrils. 

She spent less than two arns on the planet, just enough time to get the prowler refuelled and food cubes purchased. She didn't want to hang around any longer than absolutely necessary in case she bumped into Chiana or Rygel. They had set off with D'Argo for Xelp Xelp 77 shortly before her own departure from Moya and she had no desire to repeat painful partings.

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Aeryn checked her flight trajectory and glanced at the energy readings. The fuel gauge was hovering on empty although she still had several more arns of flying before she reached G'Amba 9, the latest dren-hole planet on her search. She sighed. It felt like she hadn't slept in a weeken and she was shattered. She yawned and shook her head trying to shake the weariness away. Keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead, she reached down and picked up the water bottle at her side and took a long drink. She'd added campcoff, a potent stimulant, to it to help her stay awake but even so she could feel her eyelids becoming heavier by the microt. 

What was she doing? Was this really what she wanted? It had been over a monen since she had said goodbye to Crichton and the others and she missed all of them more than she realised she would. She wondered what they were doing, whether they were happier than she was. She hoped so. She stared into space. She'd made her decision. Second thoughts now were foolish. Nothing had changed. So why did it still hurt so much? John would've got her message by now. She hoped it explained what she hadn't been able to say in person, that he'd understand and forgive her. Somehow it was important that he didn't think badly of her. Oh, for the love of Cholak! She was going to cry again. Really, this had got to stop. Who was going to accept her as a trained fighter and killer, if she burst into tears every five microts? "Get a grip Aeryn," she scolded herself.

A flashing red alarm light on the dashboard caught her eye and she reached forward and flicked the switch to turn it off. Her eyes scanned the sky around her and she eased the steering controls to the left, pushing the prowler into a gentle arc towards the small planet now registering on her monitors.

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Aeryn locked her prowler and looked around her. She had landed on a small strip of cleared earth just outside a walled trading town. 

The town, barely visible through the drizzle and mist, was G'Amba 9, once a former Peacekeeper fortress and thriving Sebacean outpost. It was named after the planet itself, which had first been successfully colonised by Sebaceans during the Breakaway Wars. It was now a planet in decline. Few settlements remained and the majority of the population was to be found in and around this trading centre. The perimeter walls of the town, built of enormous black-stone blocks, were starting to crumble and a profusion of weeds grew all around the base, eroding the soil and slowly undermining the foundations. Only one of the corner lookout posts reminded intact and there was nothing left to suggest that this place was once the talk of the system. 

Scanning the horizon, Aeryn could just make out the towering cliffs all around, part of the town creeping up its craggy ridges. Almost 80 per cent of G'Amba 9 was rock and the cliffs were honeycombed with tunnels and abandoned mine shafts, a perfect hideout for outlaws. She took a deep breath and started walking.

By the time she reached the town gates she was cold and wet. There was no obvious security check and Aeryn entered unchallenged. The exercise and fresh air had not cleared her head and she was beginning to suspect that it wasn't the stress of the past few monens causing the sickness. It was early evening and the light was fading fast as she reached the main square. The small, dirty looking shops and stalls around the edges were beginning to close for the day. There were only a few people milling around and many of the shopkeepers had taken in their signs and were packing up their goods for the night. In the middle of the square was a tall four-pronged pole that shed a yellow pool of light over the whole area. Aeryn sent shadows dancing across all four walls as she walked across it. 

Looking around, she noticed several diners open for business. Wondering if some food and a drink might help, she walked across the muddy square and took a window seat at the quietest looking place. She really couldn't cope with noise or hassle right now. The bar walls were bare black brick and all the furniture was made from a flimsy grey metal. The place was almost deserted and a waiter quickly appeared at her side. She glanced at the hand-written menu he offered her and ordered Sebacean mint stew and a warmed glass of raslak. As the waiter, a Sebacean-Luxan half-breed by the look of him, went to bring her order, Aeryn considered her next move. The squad she sought was rumoured to work out of a base in this sector so if she asked around a bit she ought to be able to find out for sure. She'd have to be discreet though or they'd think she was a spy. Or perhaps not, maybe her best bet would be to attract attention to herself. If they were here, or around here, her asking questions might just flush them out. Risky. They might just decide to eliminate the potential threat but the alternative was to wander across the territory never getting any closer to her goal. And she'd always preferred the direct approach.

The waiter bought her order and she sat, food untouched, staring into space. After a while she realised she was watching an old couple make their way slowly across the cobbled square. The Sebacean man was carrying a large bag of provisions while his female companion held a makeshift weather protector over his head. They came to a halt halfway across the square and appeared to be arguing. The old man put down the bag and the two of them stood in the rain, arms waving wildly at each other. After a few moments, a smile and a kiss were exchanged and it was all over. The old man bent down, picked up the bag and the pair continued their journey. Aeryn smiled through her tears and her heart ached for what she had lost.

The pain of John's death was still as raw as on the day it had happened. She had tried to train her mind not to think of him but back on Moya, with the other John, it had become impossible. This simulacrum had haunted her thoughts, his silent reproach harder to bear than angry words. She hated him for making her hurt all over again and at night she hated him for living, even as her body ached for his. Alone in her quarters she had raged at him in her mind, screaming for him to explain why it had to be her John who'd died. Why hadn't he died instead? 

But she'd felt herself slipping. He was still John and he still worked that indescribable magic on her. In the cargo bay, the look in his eyes had been unmistakable and almost impossible to resist. It would have been so easy to say yes, to slip into his arms and pretend everything was alright. But it wasn't alright and never would be. He was a living memory, a bittersweet reminder of a different lifetime. One she could never return to. No one could imagine what it had cost her to leave but she knew she couldn't live with a ghost, or the chance of losing him again. 

Shaking her head, angry at her weakness, she stood up, dropped a few coins onto the table and walked out.

-----------------------------------------

Aeryn lolled back in her chair ignoring her untouched breakfast congealing on the plate. She'd been on G'Amba 9 for three solar days now and had not made contact with anyone even remotely connected to the assassination squad. She'd made discreet enquiries with every shopkeeper in and around the main square, the attendants at the landing field where her prowler was parked, and at the seedy hostel where she was staying. And she'd got nowhere. Then she'd hit the bars. That had been a depressing experience. Her questions had been met with blank stares or tall stories that were clearly the work of raslak soaked imaginations. She had also received a proposal of life-partnership and several less long-term offers. Aeryn did not have Chiana's natural talent for manipulating these situations and her first instinct was still to hit first. She'd been thrown of out two places for fighting and banned from another for the same reason. The lack of progress was beginning to irk her and to make matters worse her sickness was increasing in its virulence. She could barely keep anything inside her now and she realised that a trip to a local medic might be in order. 

A short while later, breakfast eaten and swiftly regurgitated, she asked around the local shopkeepers and was told there was a Diagnosan who ran an apothecary on the outskirts of town who might be able to help her. Aeryn decided to go immediately. If she had developed some weird illness, not covered by her Peacekeeper jabs, she ought to find out about it now. It did occur to her that, if it turned out to be serious, or fatal, it might save her a lot of trouble living. 

Pausing before she left the square, she looked up. The sky was grey and overcast, promising another day of mist and rain. Shivering, she turned into a side street and began to make her way towards the outskirts of town. The streets were narrow and filled with people so her progress was slow. After walking for the best part of an arn the crowds began to thin out and she was able to take more notice of her surroundings. The streets were paved with uneven slabs of black stone, with green mould growing around them. The mould continued up the face of the tall, thin houses lining the route. The houses were also made of black stone with graffiti scrawled across the lower reaches of most of them. 

Aeryn walked along a narrow side street glancing at the overhead signs until she came to the place she was looking for. She pushed open the door and heard a small bell tinkle as she walked into the small dark shop. It smelt damp and musty and moss grew between the flagstones on the floor. Aeryn glanced around her. Floor to ceiling, the walls were lined with unlabelled jars of all shapes and sizes and filled with powders, seeds and twisted roots. It reminded her of Zhaan's apothecary back on Moya. Zhaan would have loved it in here. Every time they'd stopped for supplies she had always managed to find time to acquire at least one new sample to add to her collection. The counter was at the back of the shop, a set of weighing scales on its stone surface. Arranged on the shelves behind the counter were a dozen tall glass phials each containing a liquid of a different colour. As her eyes focused on the curtained archway at the end of the counter, the head and shoulders of an old woman with three eyes and long grey hair peeked out from behind the faded green screen.

"I was looking for Bathsandra?" 

"Yes dear, what can I do for you?" The woman let go of the curtain and stepped forward. She was little more than a metra tall and dressed in a long green robe that had clearly seen better days. An embroidered black shawl hung across her shoulders.

"I'm looking for something to settle my stomach," said Aeryn, suddenly nervous about describing her symptoms to a stranger.

"Come in, come in, come through here," the old woman beckoned Aeryn towards the archway behind the counter. 

Aeryn hesitated. Perhaps she'd been wrong. This woman looked more like a quack than a trained physician. "I was told that you were a diagnosan," she said, remaining where she was. 

"I'm not but I do have some medical knowledge people find useful. Did you want a consultation?" The old woman's voice was soft and friendly.

"Yes."

"Then step this way my dear and tell me your troubles."

Aeryn decided she had nothing to lose. If the woman started burning incense and muttering ridiculous incantations to non-existent gods she could always leave. She pushed through the curtains into a warm, well-lit room. A fire burned in the hearth and the walls were lined with bright tapestries woven with intricate geometric patterns. The room smelt fresh and well aired although Aeryn couldn't see any windows. She looked upwards and saw bunches of aromatic dried leaves hung from the ceiling. A trolley of antiquated diagnostic instruments stood in front of an empty desk, pushed in to a corner and draped with a rust coloured sheet. An identically covered reclining armchair stood beside it. The old woman motioned Aeryn to the chair. The examination didn't take long but Aeryn was surprised at the thoroughness of the woman's questions and tests. She was soon handing over her samples, re-buttoning her jacket and thanking the old woman for her time. 

"Come back tomorrow morning. I should have the results for you by then," the medic said with a smile. "In the meantime, try to get some rest. You look exhausted."

"How much do I owe you?" asked Aeryn unzipping her purse.

"Nothing now, you can pay me tomorrow. Don't worry my dear, I'm sure you'll be just fine." The woman patted her gently on the back and gave her shoulder a light squeeze. "Remember, plenty of rest," she added as she accompanied Aeryn to the street door. 

Aeryn took the old woman's advice and went to bed early but she slept badly. The nightmares that had plagued her after John's death had returned and she rose early to escape them. Rubbing her hands against the cold, biting wind she crossed the now familiar market square toward the apothecary. The bar where she normally ate was already open but she decided to forgo breakfast. She didn't think her stomach was up to it. Several people nodded and said good morning to her. She shook her head at this strange display of familiarity from people she had barely met. Turning up the collar of her jacket for better protection against the damp morning air, she set off. She hadn't gone far before a man in a hooded cloak came up to her asked directions to the landing site. As she turned to point in the direction she had just come from, the man pulled a pulse pistol from beneath his robes and whispered to her, "scream and you die. Run and you die. Now, come with me." Aeryn, reacting with the quick instinct of a peacekeeper, raised her arm to knock the weapon from the man's hand. As she began to move she found herself grabbed from behind. She struggled to free herself but a foul smelling cloth was pushed into her face and something heavy hit her on the head. She lost consciousness. 

When she came to, she was bound, gagged and blindfolded. By the smell, she guessed she was being held in some kind of grain store. She wriggled her wrists to see if she could loosen the leather bonds that tied her hands behind her back but there was no give. Her stomach gave a small churn and she prayed that it wasn't going to try to spill what little remained of its contents. Death by asphyxiation was not on her agenda. She tried to breathe normally and relax her knotted muscles. After a while, when no one came, she stood up, easing the cramp in her muscles. She set about measuring her prison. Ten hops to the left and ten to the right. She knelt down and pressed her head against the floor. Stone. She stood up and repeated the manoeuvre against the wall. More stone. She felt her way, inch by inch, around her cell. No nails, no hooks or sharp edges, nothing to allow her to saw through her bonds. She sighed. Escape didn't seem to be an option. So she sat back down and waited. She felt remarkably calm. Perhaps her training hadn't totally deserted her after all. 

After what felt like an age, she heard footsteps coming towards her. They stopped close by. She heard the jangle of keys followed by the click of a manual lock and the rattle of chains. There was a slow grinding noise. A blast of cold air washed over her. She gave an involuntary shiver and heard the sound of a man laughing. Rough, calloused hands grabbed her arms and pulled her to her feet. Something sharp, probably a knife, was pressed against her neck as the voice she had heard in the street said, " you know the routine. Come quietly and live. Make a fuss and I slit your throat. You choose. It's all the same to me." Aeryn went quietly. She listened intently as they walked but she detected no one else with her captor. She counted each step they took as she had been taught to do. It felt comfortable falling back on her old training. 

She had walked 365 paces when an unexpected shove from behind propelled her forward. Her feet tripped over an unseen step, she staggered but caught her balance and remained standing. She gave a small smile. She might be a prisoner but that didn't mean she was going to give a micro-metra. And if, as she hoped, it was the assassination squad she sought who had abducted her, then they would be watching her every move. She would be judged, just as a peacekeeper was judged, on her ability to survive, intimidate and withstand. She turned her head slightly trying to work out where she might be, and how many people were there. She could sense her guide, stood so close she could feel his warm breath on her neck and smell the raslak on his breath but she could also make out other sounds, other voices. The sounds were indistinct but nonetheless she believed there were at least two other people in the room and she thought they were eating. She heard the scraping of a chair and then a male voice called, "Silence". The room became still. Aeryn tensed.

"Take the gag from her mouth," the speaker requested in a relaxed tone. 

Released, Aeryn wiggled her jaw, easing the stiffness in her face. 

"You're a terrible spy, but a very attractive woman," the voice pronounced with a hint of amusement.

Aeryn stiffened and took a deep breath before replying, "I am not a spy and I don't know who you are."

"Whereas I know quite a bit about you. What brings you to G'Amba 9, Aeryn Sun?" The voice was sharper now.

"Fuel. Sleep." Aeryn was not going to be drawn until she knew who she was dealing with.

"And fighting. You've got quite a reputation across town already," the voice added with a chuckle.

"Simple misunderstandings," she replied, matching his causal manner.

"One of them has only just regained consciousness," the voice was now definitely amused.

"These things happen." She gave an exaggerated shrug of the shoulders. 

The voice turned into a short, loud laugh, quickly smothered. "Tell me again. Why are you here?"

Live. Die. It was all just the toss of a coin. "I'm looking for the Millan Astrey." 

There was a short pause before the voice answered, "and why are you looking for them?" 

"I want to join them." There, it was said. It was done.

"And why would you want to do that?"

"I want to fight," Aeryn replied. She had chosen the Millan Ashtrey because it offered its recruits little more than the chance to fight and die. Their motto was oblivion with honour. The rumours about it suggested a very short life expectancy for its front line operatives. Crais had told her about them.

"Leave us," the voice ordered. 

Aeryn felt the warm breath disappear from her neck and heard a chair scrap across the stone floor and two, no, three people leaving the room. She heard her captor move towards her. She felt a cool hand rest on the nape of her neck and a sharp nudge in the small of her back. 

"I'm going to take off the blindfold but there's a condition. Do not turn around. Try to turn around and I shoot you. Understand?"

Aeryn nodded. 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light once the blindfold came off. She saw she was in a long narrow stone room. The only natural light came from a small skylight directly above her but shining straight at her was a powerful industrial strip light. Beside it sat a small table and four chairs. The table had the remains of a meal on it along with several metal beakers and a half empty bottle of raslak. "Well, what happens now?" She asked.


	6. Ch6: Ghosts

**6. ****GHOSTS **

**"Could I ever explain this feeling of love it just lingers on**

**The fear in my heart that keeps telling me which way to turn**

**Here I am alone again; a quiet town where life gives in…"**

** Japan, Nightporter**

------------------------------------------------------------

"I always knew you were special." 

Aeryn staggered. Her throat went dry and her eyes widened. "Velorak? But, but-." It was all she could do to stop herself from spinning round to face him. 

"Shush! I get to ask the questions," Velorak's voice was sharp. "Where's the rest of your merry band of misfits? And your lover, where's he?" 

Aeryn flinched at the hard edge to his voice but she clung to the vestige of her composure and her own voice hardly wavered as she replied, "w-w-we've split up and my lover is dead. Your information must be out of date." 

"Split up? Dead? I understood you just blew up a Command Carrier together?" 

Aeryn decided it would take too long to explain and simply said, "I am no longer with any of my former shipmates. I chose to offer my services to the Millan Astrey, I-I-I didn't know you were here." 

Velorak chuckled, "No I bet you didn't, but that hardly covers it Aeryn. Quite a few people want you and your friends very badly indeed. There are dozens of both Scarren and Peacekeeper wanted beacons for you plastered all over this sector. You're valuable merchandise. You'd fetch me a very good price."

Aeryn stiffened. She knew about the new beacons, she'd seen one herself. 

"So who or what you are you running away from?" Velorak persisted.

Aeryn did not reply.

"I see. Okay, have it your way for now. Central Command won't buy that though. When people sign on they tend to want to know what baggage they're carrying. And yours, Aeryn Sun, is explosive."

Velorak walked around to face her, his dark eyes cold as he snarled at her. "Why should I trust you Aeryn? You sold me out for a prowler detail. If life is so cheap to you, how do I know you won't sell out my unit as soon as you get the chance?"

His reply was reasonable but it still stung Aeryn. She looked at him and thought back. He was older and thinner than she remembered but it had been over five cycles since she'd last seen him. His nose was flatter too and slightly twisted, one ear was missing and he had a fine white scar running underneath his glassy left eye. As she looked closer she saw a livid scar zigzagged around his neck. Later she would see how it ripped diagonally down his body ending just above his groin. Velorak would give her a guided tour of his injuries, beginning with those received after she had betrayed him to Crais. He would show her the pins in his legs, the angry welts across his back and the weeping sores that would never heal. But for now she looked in wonder at the man she believed she had condemned to slow, painful death. She pressed her lips together and willed the tears not to fall. She didn't know what to say. She didn't have the words to begin to tell him how truly, truly sorry she was.

Velorak stood directly in front of her, his eyes unreadable. She met his gaze and swallowed hard. "I was a fool. I didn't know what I was doing. I'm different now and I-I-I wish, oh cholak, I wish I hadn't done it." Aeryn felt the muscles in her face begin to scrunch. "Y-Y-You w-w-were trying to save Moya, I know that now. I was wrong, so wrong. I just-, I frelled up, alright!" She wiped her hand across her face as she struggled to keep control. "It worked you know," she added with a sniff, "until D'Argo dislodged the cap of course. But by then Moya was free so it wasn't a problem. Talyn was beautiful, oh Velorak, you should've seen him! He was magnificent."

Velorak smiled. "Yes, I'm told he was a formidable warship. Well let's leave our little personal problem aside. If you want to join us you'll need to prove to my men that you're prepared to die for the Millan Ashtrey. Are you?" 

"Yes, but how do I do that?" Aeryn asked.

"You get to go on a little mission for us. Think of it as an entrance fee. If you succeed, I'll recommend your admittance. It'll be for the rest of the Unit to decide if you are acceptable. Interested?"

"Yes please," Aeryn replied, quietly.

"You realise once you're in, there's only one way to leave?" 

"That's not a problem." Aeryn said without hesitation.

"Okay. Wait here." 

As Velorak left the room, Aeryn noticed he walked with a slight limp. She winced. It crossed her mind that this might not be such a good idea after all, but she quickly dismissed it. What other choice did she have? He returned a short while later with a small black pouch. "Your instructions," he said offering Aeryn the packet. "Angor will accompany you to ensure our security. Make no mistake Aeryn. I may have forgiven your betrayal five cycles ago but he will kill you if you try anything now." 

She was greatly coolly by the man Velorak called into the room. He was a tall, well built Sebacean. He wore a patch over his left eye and bore a deep criss-crossed scar across the cheek underneath. He was dressed in an unmarked brown leather suit similar to her own attire, although her kit looked in a lot better shape. 

As they loaded a marauder with equipment and ammunition, Angor only spoke to give her orders. She had expected no favours, no special treatment and she received none. 

An arn later Aeryn was being flown in the marauder to the planet's nearest moon. Angor was at the controls. They flew in silence. 

They landed on the nearest moon to G'Amba 9, a barren satellite planet that housed several small abandoned mining facilities. The marauder was resting on the edge of a high escarpment, a short distance from the disused mining complex. Their mission was to recce the whole area. They also had to disarm any possible booby traps or bugging devices they might find. Correction, Aeryn had to find and disarm the booby traps.

Their boots rang out against the metal floor as they entered the derelict structure. The place was empty. It had been totally stripped. Nothing had been left behind but a few discarded empty crates and storage stacks. They worked their way through a series of small rooms until they reached a large galleried hall. The balcony had once been accessible by four separate stairwells in each corner. Only one remained. The other three had collapsed in heaps of twisted metal many cycles ago. They both survey the room. The job had been relatively easy until then. Small rooms were quick and simple to sort and the booby traps were fiddly but easily disarmed. This room was going to take a lot of work. 

Angor did very little. The task was Aeryn's. She worked quickly and methodically and Angor was impressed, despite himself. As Aeryn punched her way into a small anteroom he left her for a microt to relieve himself. 

As the metal floor fell to the floor Aeryn stepped into the room beyond, her pulse pistol held in front of her. The room turned out to be a short corridor. Without hesitating Aeryn walked forward. Scanning the area she noticed a small wire strung across it at ankle height. It was linked to a small incendiary device. As she bent down to disconnect it, she discovered that the fuse wire had already been cut. Moving more cautiously, she continued along the passage until she reached a second door. She tried the handle and it responded easily to her touch. The door led into a store-cupboard and as the door swung open a dark mass fired at Aeryn. She ducked sideways and fired as the shape catapulted into the room. It was a peacekeeper. Aeryn knocked his pulse pistol out of his grasp as he sought to regain his balance. It fell to the floor with a clatter. The peacekeeper retaliated with a sharp left hook but Aeryn anticipated the manoeuvre and leaned just out of his reach. She swivelled round and landed a glancing blow against his side. Her gun now pointed directly at the Peacekeeper's chest, Aeryn hesitated. The man took his chance and leapt forward trying to knock the gun from her hand. Aeryn responded immediately. Weekens of suppressed rage finally escaped and she pulled the trigger. The shot echoed around their enclosed space. The man crumpled, his body hit the metal floor with a soft thud. Aeryn continued to discharge her weapon. 

"I think you can stop now," said Angor, as he came to a panting halt beside her. 

Aeryn relaxed her trigger finger and lowered the pulse pistol. She tried to breathe normally.

"Come on," he said, "we need to move fast."

They made their way back to the marauder and Angor contacted Velorak, who was not impressed that comms silence had been broken. Angor briefly explained what had happened.

A few arns later and Velorak and another Millan Astray officer called Rassik, arrived in a second patched up Marauder. Velorak exchanged a few words with Angor before calling Aeryn over to him. He motioned her to join him in the marauder.

They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few microts until Velorak said, " it seems things are moving a little more quickly than anticipated. Angor reckons you'll do, for now, but I'm not so sure." He held her gaze. "Tell me Aeryn Sun, why do you want to do this?"

Aeryn looked into Velorak's eyes and realised that nothing but the truth would suffice. "I want to do something good before I die," she eventually answered. "I have learnt that things are not as I was told and I want to do something, no, I need to do something right, something I have chosen myself. I thought the Millan Astrey might give me that chance." She dropped her gaze.

Velorak nodded slowly but said nothing.

"I won't betray you, she said. "As you pointed out, I'm wanted by half the galaxy and I doubt even handing you over would save me now. I have no ties to the peacekeepers, to anyone, anymore. Please Velorak, I need this," she finished lamely.

Neither spoke until Aeryn asked about the mission. Velorak took a deep breath, raised his eyes upwards and replied quietly, "we're going to scupper a covert meeting between a delegation of Peacekeepers and the largest mining company on G'Amba 9." 

His decision made, Velorak visibly relaxed as he outlined their task. He burst out laughing when she interrupted him to know why they were killing these people.

"What? What's so funny?" she demanded, her eyes flashing.

Velorak held up his hands in mock surrender. "Questioning orders Officer Sun? My, you really have changed." 

His smile was infectious and she almost grinned back at him. 

"We may not have to kill them. Although if they do seal the deal they've agreed then I'm afraid we must." He could see she was about to interrupt with more objections. He pulled out a small data chip and said, "everything you need to know is in this." He passed it across to her. 

She took the chip and held it in her hand. She felt guilty questioning his integrity after her own actions. What right did she have to challenge him? She had destroyed his life for the sake of her own selfish desires. She still inserted the chip in the console though. As she read, she understood. G'Amba 9's main export was novatar; the planet was made of the stuff. Novatar was the ore that produced novatron gas. Aeryn shuddered. What was worse, the Peacekeepers intended to use leviathans to transport the shipments they were currently negotiating. She looked at Velorak and he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement. 

He was less relaxed once they stepped back outside. Then she saw the other side of Velorak, the one she remembered from Moya, and her palms began to sweat. He clearly took his responsibilities seriously and there was no mistaking his command of the situation. There was no joking, no light-hearted banter and when the other two members of the team joined them, his authority was obvious.

Velorak turned as the two men joined them. Both carried heavy rucksacks and wore two pulse pistols each. "Aeryn and I will take the main building. I want you two to do that whole area," he pointed to a series of out buildings barely visible in the distance, "I want it checked, bugged and rigged. Okay?" Both men nodded and set off. "Be back here in eight arns," Velorak called after them, "we've got three more facilities to get through and I want us back on G'Amba 9 in 52 arn."

As they walked towards the complex, Aeryn watched Velorak make a quick but highly accurate sketch of the whole area. During the course of their work Velorak noticed Aeryn slipping away as they drilled their own incendiary devices into position. Cursing under his breath that he had better not have misjudged her again, he followed her. He watched from a distance as she silently threw up the little food he'd seen her eat earlier. He also saw that she went about her work quietly and efficiently. In fact she had spoken barely ten words since they had separated from the others. 

It was growing dark when they got back to the marauders, exactly eight arns later. Their two compatriots were lounging against a landing-leg of their ship. Both were eating. They nodded to Velorak as he joined them and Rassik passed a sealed metal dish to him with a grin. Both men blanked Aeryn and left her to find her own food. Aeryn didn't want food and she left the three men to their camaraderie. She went inside the nearer of the two marauders and began restocking her rucksack with supplies for the next facility. 

A short while later, Velorak joined her. He stood in the doorway and watched her for a microt before speaking. "They take time Aeryn Sun," he said, "and it is you who should make the effort." 

Aeryn turned her face to look at him and gave a brief shrug of her shoulders.

"Anyway, you need to eat something."

Aeryn shook her head. "Not hungry," she replied with a small grimace.

"Suit yourself. Anyway it's getting dark, there's nothing we can do until it's light. Our next stop means climbing those cliffs and even I'm not foolhardy enough to try that without light. Angor is taking first watch so we can get some rest." Velorak said as he pulled a couple of sleeping rolls out of an overhead locker. 

He tossed one to Aeryn. She caught it and stared at it for a microt before unravelling it onto the marauder floor. Velorak did the same. Neither undressed. Instead Velorak turned to Aeryn and said, "okay, time to trade. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." When Aeryn didn't respond Velorak continued "take it, it's a good offer, you'll have to tell me eventually so you might as well get your own question answered too."

Aeryn had to admit it was true. Much of her day had been spent considering how Velorak was alive and working for the Millan Astrey. She had found it a useful block against other more painful thoughts. She walked to the door and looked out. She could dimly make out Angor's silhouette against the night sky. He was sat on the steps of the other marauder a few metras away, his pulse rifle stiffly pointing into the darkness. She turned around to face Velorak. "Okay, you first."

Velorak shook his head but he told her anyway. His story was a simple one. The Millan Astrey had recruited him while he was still a research student. His role was to report on, and if required, sabotage the Peacekeeper leviathan hybrid-breeding programme. Millan Astrey Central Command had taken the unusual decision to rescue him when he was arrested. They had refused to tell him how may men it had cost but he knew his life had not come cheap. Once he had been patched up, he had joined a mobile sabotage unit. This was his fifth and the third he had commanded.

As she listened to him tell her about his new life she realised she hadn't ruined Velorak's life. He spoke with such passion about his work with the Millan Ashtrey. His voice hummed with excitement and his whole face became animated. He looked happy and his eyes shone with pride as he talked of the leviathans he had saved from Peacekeeper enslavement. This mission was just the latest in a long line of assignments where Velorak got to play the hero and he clearly loved it. He had given his life to understanding leviathans and their pilots and now it was quite clear to Aeryn that he loved them as much as she did. She wondered why she hadn't seen it before, but she supposed she had been a different person then and he had hidden it very well. She also wondered what his reaction would be if she told him about her DNA.

When her turn came she found she didn't know where to begin and she knew she wasn't capable of matching Velorak's composure in the telling. What eventually emerged was a half-truth, a tale where a single act of chance led to a bland litany of occasions when peacekeepers were shown to be the bad guys. It sounded weak even to Aeryn and she felt guilty for repaying his honesty with her hollow reply. She mentioned John only in the same casual terms she used to describe her relationship with the rest of her travelling companions but her eyes lit up and a warm timbre entered her voice every time she spoke of him.

Aeryn couldn't make out the expression on Velorak's face as she told her story. The single overhead light that lit the marauder threw his face into shadow. As she came to the part where John had died she found it impossible to continue. Her face twitched as she desperately sought to keep herself under control. 

Velorak leaned forward and said gently, "let it go Aeryn. It can do you no good. Now, start again and tell me about this human you obviously care so much about. What sort of man was he?"

Aeryn just stared at Velorak. "He was like you," she said finally, "but he's definitely dead. End of story." 

Velorak didn't press her further. He nodded and began to undress. Aeryn did the same.

As they finally prepared to sleep Velorak noticed Aeryn slip away once more. He followed her as far as the door, until he saw her slip behind a bush and heard the faint sounds of retching. He pulled a face. He was given another reason for concern during the night. 

Aeryn had intended to stay awake. She dreaded the nightmares and she really couldn't afford to cry out in front of Velorak. But despite having taken several phials of campcoff, she fell asleep shortly before dawn. She was immediately plunged into a bloodbath where everyone she had ever known seemed to die a terrible death because of her. She woke with a shudder. Velorak was looking directly at her. Saying nothing she lay back down and stared at the ceiling.

In the morning they climbed to their next destination, a series of small huts, on the other side of the valley. As they inched their way up the sheer cliff face, Velorak asked her about it. "You cried out in your sleep. You know that is unacceptable. Care to tell me why?"

Aeryn wanted to snap back that it was none of his business but as she looked at him, there was no judgement in his face, only concern. She bit back her angry retort, turned away and said, "People dying. You," she paused, "and him, John. It won't happen again."

"Good."

After an 18-arn day they finished setting the incendiary devices. Velorak sat back on heels and sighed. "Gods that was hard work. I could use a drink. Come on. Let's get back to the marauder. I've got a bottle of raslak somewhere."

Velorak had barely opened the bottle before Angor and Rassik returned. They grinned openly when they saw the bottle and Rassik grabbed the bottle as soon as he reached the marauder. 

That night, determined to stay awake rather than risk a repeat performance, Aeryn offered to stand guard. She spent the night dismantling, cleaning and oiling her pulse pistol until daybreak. She tired to ignore the knowledge that her gesture was unwelcome and that throughout the night her crewmates watched her.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Exactly 50 arns later after she had left, Aeryn was again stood before Velorak in the narrow sky lit briefing room of the temporary Millan Astrey base. 

"Congratulations. Welcome on board. Go and collect your things, we ship out tonight. The op's definitely on. Iagos will give you the rendezvous co-ordinates. You'll get your final instructions there." 

Aeryn nodded and gave a sharp salute.

"I like it, but it isn't necessary here," Velorak said with a hint of a smirk quivering at the corners of his mouth.

Aeryn almost smiled back. She spun on her heels and walked smartly to the door.

"Oh, there is one more thing," Velorak called after her. 

"Yes?" She turned to face him. 

"You've got to be declared fit by the Butcher." 

Aeryn's face froze. 'Butcher' was Peacekeeper slang for the military medic.

Velorak saw her expression. "I saw you being sick. I'm sorry. I want you to come with us, but I can't carry anyone or risk exposing any more of my people to infection."

Aeryn understood. She dropped her gaze and swallowed.

"Aeryn, you're not well. Anyone can see that. You don't sleep, you don't eat and you talk even less than when we first met. Something's clearly not right. You need to get it sorted." 

She raised her eyes to his. The look of concern on his face was too much for her. She gave a curt nod and fled. 

Iagos, the guy who had first grabbed her on the street in G'Amba 9, was waiting along the passageway to take her back to town. His double take at her face told Aeryn that he had noticed her flushed cheeks. She was grateful when he said nothing. 

Blindfolded in the back of a battered, noisy truck, the long bumpy journey back to town gave her plenty of opportunity to think about what had happened over the past three days. She could hardly believe such a short space of time had elapsed. Rightly or wrongly she had once again participated in a deliberate act of sabotage against Peacekeepers and she had enjoyed it. What scared her most though was the pleasure she had rediscovered in Velorak's company. He was still the intelligent and intense man she had known before with the same gentle mocking wit. But now she also saw the man who took outrageous risks in order to challenge and defy established hegemony. It was incredible that he'd lived this long. And he had forgiven her. She still couldn't quite believe it. He had simply brushed aside her stuttered attempt to apologise saying that it was in the past and he preferred to live in the present. 

The truck dropped her on the outskirts of town. Making her way back to her lodgings Aeryn walked passed the old woman's apothecary. She paused. Her instinct was to keep walking but if she was ill, she knew she needed to know before she faced the Butcher. The small bell announced her arrival in the shop. 

The old woman's face appeared between the curtains at the back of the room. "Ah, I was wondering where you'd got to," she said smiling. She beckoned for Aeryn to join her and withdrew her head. 

Aeryn followed. As she walked through the curtain to the back room the old woman motioned for her to take a seat. She hardly had time to collect her thoughts before the woman said, "You're with child, my dear."

Aeryn looked back at the woman. The words didn't make any sense. 

"You look surprised?"

Aeryn felt stunned. She also felt sick. Her mind frantically looked for reasons why that could not possibly be the answer. "But what about the sickness? That doesn't explain why I'm being sick." She sat back in her chair. She didn't know much about the gestation process, it hadn't be high on the Peacekeeper training programme, but she did know it wasn't supposed to include weekens of constant nausea or endless floods of tears.

"Yes, I wondered about that. Hormones. Your levels are highly abnormal for a healthy Sebacean woman. The father's not Sebacean is he?"

Aeryn looked at the woman, and sat forward again. "No, human." She felt her insides twist and she took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm.

"Hmmm. Are they compatible with Sebaceans?"

Aeryn choked back a hysterical laugh. "No. Yes. We're biologically compatible matches. Is there a problem? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, just one or two other little anomalies I picked up in the DNA samples. Nothing for you to worry about. Is the father, um, not with you?" The woman reached out her hands out to Aeryn.

Aeryn ignored the gesture and simply nodded.

"Ah. You'll want some time to think then." It was a statement not a question.

Aeryn could still only nod. She stood up, handed over a handful of coins and hurried outside in to the damp morning air. She stood still a moment trying to get her head round the diagnosis. She could not accept this was happening to her. She desperately wanted to believe there had been a mistake, some sort of foul up with the test results. But she knew that wasn't true. It all fitted too neatly. She wondered how could she have been so stupid. Aeryn lent her arm against the wall and retched. She remained still for a microt, her head hung forwards staring at the wall. With an unsteady gait she walked back to her lodgings in a daze. 

Aeryn flopped on to the bed in the small dark box-room that served as her digs and looked around her. The walls were grey and the sheets were grey, although once both had been white. The little light coming from the small grimy window looked grey too. She sighed. 'With child.' The words still rang in her ears. She was going to have John's child! She felt numb. Life seemed to have slipped even further from her grasp and she wanted to reach out her hand to grab on to something before it slipped away from her altogether. "I can't have a baby," she wailed but she didn't much like the alternative either. "As if I don't have enough to cope with," she muttered with a sniff. She scraped her hands over her tightly bound hair and tried to think. 

She could picture John now, sat next to her, beaming and irresistibly pleased with himself, with her. No. He'd worry about her, about the child and about what sort of future they could offer it. She knew it scared the dren out of her. If she had this child she would have to survive, live for this gift he'd given her, live with the constant terror of losing it or having it taken away from her. What if Scorpius found out or the Scarrens? Aeryn shuddered at the thought. She stood up. She sat down and immediately stood up again. 

"What do I know about bringing up children, sebeacean or human?" She cried. She let her body fall back onto the bed. "What the frell am I supposed to do? Oh John, why did you have to be the hero, why did you have to go die on me? Couldn't we have left it alone?" She raged at the ceiling. 

She gave a heavy sigh, stood up and began pacing the room. It didn't help. As she reached the window for the umpteenth time, she stopped. She wiped a small section with her sleeve, which came back black, and peered out. Her view consisted of a black block wall only a few metras away. She turned her gaze upwards and looked up at a small rectangle of darkening sky. For the first time since she had arrived, the rain had stopped and as the clouds thinned she could make out a few stars glittering in the early evening sky. A tear rolled down her cheek. She turned around, picked up her small bag of possessions and walked out of the room. 

Leaving the tall, silent building, Aeryn headed back to the Apothecary.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Aeryn was back in her prowler and back in the air. She had left G'Amba 9 without returning to the Apothecary or Velorak and the Millan Astrey. As night fell she had simply left town. 

The choice made, Aeryn set a course back to Moya's last known position. Her logic was simple: If she was going to have John's child, she was going to need help. She needed to talk to Crichton, however painful that was going to be. 

She put the prowler on autopilot and closed her eyes. She decided it could fly without her for a while. She desperately needed to rest. 

Forgetting to switch on the auto-alert, she missed the green blip that appeared on the edge of her monitor a short while later. The blip was a Charrid bounty hunter's vessel, part of a massive operation to find the saboteurs responsible for blowing up the Xax Carzhaz, the Scarren Dreadnaught containing the precious secret of wormhole technology. It picked up her presence immediately. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

It would appear Fate has a peculiar sense of humour, not to mention crap timing, because shortly after dawn a primitive white space module, a bit battered and slightly scorched, landed on G'Amba 9. A man in an orange flying suit climbed out of the cockpit and lifted his head to smell the fresh morning air. 


	7. Ch7: Wormhole Challenge

PART 3:  ACCIDENTAL TOURISTS

Ch7 Pilot has to cope with bickering crew mates, a rogue builder and, the icing on his warmelon cake, some very complicated science!  Moya makes a decision and Crichton makes an acquaintance.  Ch8 is all about D'Argo, Macton Tal and Oricans.  Some of it may even count as D'Argo angst!  And in Ch9 Chiana and Rygel finally enter our story…

I apologize for any pain or suffering the next bit causes Pilot & Moya lovers but I promise no leviathans, pilots or DRDs were hurt in the making of this chapter…HONEST!  I also apologise for the overlong wait for this next chunk.  I did something unpleasant to my elbow which curtailed typing for a while.

NB As a long-suffering and S4 starved Brit; I don't yet know the old woman's name (if she has one…) so I've made one up.

Ch7    Wormhole Challenge 

Ch8    Bloodquest

Ch9    Another fine mess (?)

Ch7: Wormhole Challenge

The short flight to G'Amba 9 from the orbiting leviathan had left Crichton dizzy and exhausted.  Slowly lowering himself to the ground to give his wobbly legs a moment to recover, he leant against FS1 and admired the imposing cliffs surrounding him.  The air felt cold and damp but he didn't mind that.  It wasn't raining and it felt good be on terra firma again.  In the early morning light the town was just visible in the distance.  

Taking a deep breath, he set off but he was so weak that he could only walk a few yards before he had to sit down.  His progress was slow and it took him several arns to arrive, hot, sweaty and cross, at the main gates.  Paying scant regard to his surroundings, Crichton joined the flow of people heading inside and was bustled and jostled through the narrow streets.  He finally spilled out into the main square and slumped against a wall while he got his breath back.  Spotting a bar, he didn't stop to think, he staggered inside and collapsed with a grunt onto a flimsy metal chair.  Crichton closed his eyes and tilted his head back, lifting his nose into the air.  He could smell food.  He gave a long, deep sniff and licked his lips.  

A waiter came over and handed him a menu.  Crichton couldn't read the symbols written on it.  He had no idea what language they might be written in so he simply pointed at the top item.  He hoped it wasn't marjoules.  In fact, he had ordered the chef's special, lobscouse and a herbal infusion called Cheta.  Lobscouse turned out to be a vegetable and biscuit stew and Cheta was indistinguishable from warm minty mouthwash.  Crichton didn't care what they tasted like.  After 12 solar days on nothing but condensation drips, anything tasted wonderful.  He ate slowly not wanting to overload his digestive system with too much all at once but Crichton found it hard to stop eating, even if he felt bloated after only a few mouthfuls.  He set down his fork and took a sip of mouthwash.  "Mmmm, fantastic," he said smacking his lips together.  He was only half lying.

Crichton sat back in his chair and allowed himself a moment of happy reflection.  He wasn't going to die from starvation and it felt good not to be running.  He felt an enormous sense of satisfaction from being the master of his own destiny again.  "Next stop Aeryn," he muttered to himself.  He sighed and wondered if he really wanted to put himself through hell again?  The thought of catching up with Aeryn had been the only thing keeping him alive.  Now, with food inside him and hope on the horizon he realised he hadn't even begun to think it through.  Aeryn had made her feelings quite clear back on Moya.  He was an unacceptable substitute, yesterday's kiss.  His eyes still stung at the memory of those words.  What if she wouldn't accept his help?  Why should she accept it now when she clearly hadn't wanted it then?  He picked up his fork and stabbed angrily at his stew.  She needed him and he was damn well going to be there for her, whether she liked it or not.  If he had to track her right across the Uncharted Territories then that's what he'd do.  And when he found her, well, he'd give her a piece of his mind.  

He slumped back in his chair.  Who am I kidding? He thought.  The chances of finding her were slim and the chances of changing her mind...He shook his head.  "Well, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.  And if I don't find her?  Well, I get to travel and meet interesting new people."  The grin on his face disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.  He knew he wasn't  master of his own destiny.  He was compelled to chase a woman who couldn't bear the sight of him.  

Crichton returned to his stew, chased a soggy bit of sponge around the bowl and gave up.  He dropped his fork into the soup and pushed the bowl away from him.  He realised he was going to have to deal with the possibility that he'd lost, that Aeryn was the one thing in the Uncharted Territories that had beaten him.  What was it she'd said, "don't make me say goodbye and don't make me stay."  She was hardly going to welcome him with open arms now.

"John, look on the bright side.  You can do what you want.  You're a free agent.  You can study wormholes wherever you like." Harvey interjected into his thoughts.

"That's all there is for you isn't it?  Wormholes, wormholes, wormholes.' Crichton spat the words out.  "I'm not interested in them anymore, not without Aeryn."

"Oh, for goodness sake John.  You missed your chance.  You blew it.  Forget that girl.  She left you.  It's over.  I suggest you stay away from her, my friend." 

"I'm not your friend."

Crichton felt sick.  The idea of Aeryn being pregnant worried and inexplicably delighted him in equal measure.  "I don't want to deal with this right now," he decided aloud and cast around for something else to occupy his mind.  He wondered if Kahaynu had found Moya yet and if they were okay?  The young leviathan hadn't appeared to suffer any after-effects of wormhole travel and he hoped the same might be true of Moya, although he suspected otherwise.   It meant, however, that if Moya agreed, he could send the little leviathan through to join Moya and Pilot with reasonable hope.  He felt extremely uncomfortable that, because of his need to search for Aeryn, the leviathan would have to make the trip without him.  Now he wondered if he should re-consider and take the plunge with Alice down the rabbit hole.  He was painfully aware that if his calculations were wrong there'd be no wormhole or the trip along it might be a fatally short one.  He felt that as it was his theory, he should be the test pilot and put his own butt on the line.  "If I survive," he mused, "then maybe I'll head for Kansas."  

He stood up, paid his check and headed out in search of supplies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Moya travelled through the wormhole accompanied by the sound of ten decibel screaming.  Jools, hair scarlet, proved herself Uncharted Territories champion at the art of noise, maintaining maximum volume and pitch for the entire 200-microt journey.   

When they emerged back into normal space, Jools continued screaming until she realised she was still alive.  She then fainted.  

Neither Pilot nor the old woman spoke.  They stood motionless in the darkness, the acrid smell of smoke slowly seeping into their noses.  

"Is everyone alright?" Pilot asked quietly.

"I think so.  You?" answered Dee-leigha

"I'm okay."  It was a lie.  Due to his link with Moya, Pilot was in a great deal of pain but it wasn't in his nature to complain.  "Jools? JOOLS? He repeated, raising his voice slightly.

"I think she's on the floor," said the old woman.  " The poor thing must have passed out from exhaustion after all her screaming.  I'll fetch her a nice reviving brew."

Pilot didn't feel this should be their top priority right now but he was too polite to say so.

"Why isn't there any light?" Dee-leigha enquired.

"Slight technical difficulty.  I'm working on it," responded Pilot, his claws flying across the console as he desperately sought to assess the damage to Moya.

Moya floated in space in a great deal of pain, her normally gleaming golden brown skin now marbled red.  Her outer hull had withstood the journey but the veins and tissue that interlaced it had been badly burned.  Her condition was serious but not life threatening.  As long as Hull integrity was maintained they were safe.  Inside, a considerable number of organic power conduits and circuit boards had been damaged but everything was relatively straightforward to repair.  It would just take time and a lot of patience.  There was also some superficial damage to main life support functions.  Pilot dispatched a squad of DRDs to start the repairs while also trying to bring back-up power on line.

"Ah," said Pilot with a certain amount of satisfaction as dim yellow lights lit up on the walls of the chamber.  

"That's better," the old woman said, bending down to examine the prostrate Jools.  "Yes, she's fine.  I'll be back in a microt."

Pilot looked round the chamber.  There was little visible damage.  A small fire burnt at the door controls and a few cables hung down but that was all.  He assigned a DRD to extinguish the fire and then began a more detailed examination of the extent of Moya's injuries.

Dee-leigha reappeared carrying a small phial filled with a sludge-brown liquid.  She knelt down and pulled the Interon's head onto her lap.  She pulled off the lid of the small phial and waved the bottle under the Jools' nose and then poured a few drops into her mouth.  It worked immediately.

Waking with a start, the Interon's eyes shot open.  Finding the old woman bent over her, pouring an unknown substance into her, she sat bolt upright and screamed.  

"Hush dear.  This will help you."

"I don't need your help.  Get away from me.  How do I know you're not trying to poison me?"  Jools pulled a face. "Yeuk! What was in that, no, on second thoughts, don't tell me.  I don't want to know."  

Pilot looked up from the console and sighed.

Jools stood up and gave herself a careful examination.  She pinched herself in several places before turning her attention to Pilot and Dee-leigha.  After staring at them for a couple of microts she said, "Well, none of us seems to be oozing.  Let's hope it stays that way."  She turned to Pilot.  "So where are we?"

"Welcome back Joolushka.  I would answer your question but unfortunately I do not know the answer.  We are here.  I'm working on our precise position but Moya also needs my urgent attention."

"Pilot!"

"Yes Joolushka?"

What if we're somewhere dangerous, like near the peacekeepers or someone?  We need to know."

"I agree but Moya's condition is serious and she will not be able to starburst for some considerable time.  If we are discovered, I will do my best but I am afraid that wherever we are, we're staying for a while."

"Oh.  I see.   Well, can I help?  Is there anything I can do?"

"Yes. I would be most grateful if you could assess the damage to my lower quarters, I-"

"Pilot!"

"What is it Joolushka?  OH.  I mean the caverns beneath me.  I have had to allocate all the functioning DRDs to repairing full life support functions and I need someone to check there's no inner hull damage below.  You've been down there before so you shouldn't have too many problems."

"Has it been cleaned out since I last went down there?"

"I do not believe so."

Jools looked like she was about to object, but as she looked at Pilot's worried expression, she refrained and settled for pulling a face instead.  "Why is it me, who always ends up getting covered in dren?" She muttered as she left.

Pilot gave a brief shrug before his claws resumed their rapid movement across the console. 

When Jools eventually returned to the Den she was liberally covered in effluence.  She dripped her way to Pilot.

"Hull seems okay." she reported.  "But Moya felt very hot to the touch.  Is she running a fever?  Oh and a few of the doors weren't working and most of the lights were out but that's about it.  I fixed what I could but some circuit boards were beyond repair and will have to be replaced.  I'll check out the maintenance bay and see what we've got but I have to bathe first.  This bat dren stinks."

"Yes, of course.  Thank you Joolushka.  I too am a little concerned about Moya's temperature.  It is causing the heat levels to rise on every tier." 

"Can you do anything?"

"I have assigned some DRDs."

"Where's the old hag?  Can't she help?"

"Dee-leigha is checking the atmospherics on tier seven at the moment.  You will be pleased to know that I have ascertained where we are.  We're in the outer reaches of the Escorces System."

Jools went very quiet and then clapped her hands together excitedly.   "Escorces! Well, that's only three systems away from Interon territory.  I might be able make it home from there." 

"What about Commander Crichton?"  Pilot reminded her softly.

"Oh!" Jools hands had flown to her face and she'd stopped smiling.   "He's stranded isn't he?  And I bet his little junk bucket doesn't recycle oxygen so he's-."  She stopped and, realising what she was saying, flung her face into his neck.

Pilot wrinkled his nose as the unmistakable odour of bat-dren assaulted his olfactory senses.  He listened in silence to her sobs, patting her back with one of his arms.  He didn't know what to say to comfort her.  His own eyes filled with tears and he could have used a hug himself.  After a short while he heard her sniff and he looked down at her.

She had met his gaze and said, "we don't know how to go back Pilot.  H-H-He's dead.  And I want to go h-h-home."

Pilot was appalled.   When he told her quite categorically that once Moya was recovered they fully intended to find a way back to look for their friend, she screamed in frustration and stormed from the room.  Pilot shook his head as she left.  He had meant every word he had said about wanting to help Commander Crichton, and Moya shared his sentiment, but he knew it was false bravado.  He would never ask Moya to go back through a wormhole, even if he knew how to create one.  His eyes glistened as, through her pain, Moya urged him not to give up hope.  Pilot gave a wan smile.   

He had failed to mention what was really worrying him though.  He was glad he knew where they were; he just wished he knew 'when' as well.  Moya's sensors had been all over the place since the trip through the wormhole and had finally settled on indicating that they were about twenty-two cycles in the past.  Pilot hoped that wasn't possible.

A short while later, Jools voice came over the comms system.  "There's no water Pilot."

"I know."

"You might've told me."

"I am sorry Joolushka.  I did not think.  That was remiss of me" 

" Well, yes, anyway, call me if anything happens."

"Thank you Joolushka.  I hope that will not be necessary."

--------------------------------------------------------

The biggest problem Pilot faced was the fact that, although damaged circuit boards, cables and seals could be repaired or replaced, the living connective tissue could not.  Moya's higher functions and major arteries had remained intact but the vast majority of the smaller organic conduits had melted into unrecognisable shapes.   The rest all had cracked and were leaking vital fluids at an alarming rate.  If Moya lost too much fluid she would die.  The amnexus cables were the worst affected.  Some would regenerate over time, others would need grafts or bypasses to get them working again.  A few were lost forever.  

Pilot had assigned most of the DRDS to the task of stemming the flow.   A small number of DRDs, however,  seemed incapable of responding to his instructions.   They either rushed blindly into bulkhead walls or spun wildly on the spot.  They seemed disorientated and confused.  Jools and the old woman had proved incapable of identifying the cause of the problem so Pilot was doing it himself.  It was a slow, tedious process and as his claws were not designed to hold fiddly instruments, the effort was beginning to exhaust even his enormous reserves of patience.  He'd been trying to isolate the fault for over a solar day and he'd got nowhere.  The searing pain he felt from his symbiotic bond with Moya, didn't make the task any easier either.  He could do nothing to help her other than offer what little comfort and strength he had left.  

He had scanned the area but there were no planets within transport pod range.   Pilot had held onto a faint hope that once again they might find one with a plentiful supply of chromexin to reduce Moya's suffering while she recovered.  Instead, the old woman had offered to see what she could do and was locked in the galley brewing some sort of poultice to sooth Moya's tender skin.  Pilot didn't hold out much hope that it would work but he was grateful for her offer.  

When the first batch of her brew was ready, she marched into his den and explained what needed to be done with it.  Things went quickly down hill.  The potion, a white viscous lotion, needed to be spread liberally across Moya's outer hull.  Jools, summoned from her quarters, categorically refused to oblige and the old woman insisted that she suffered from agraphobia and couldn't possibly go space walking.  

Pilot eventually lost his temper at their bickering, something he usually regretted, but not on this occasion.  In pain and frantic with worry for Moya, he completely lost it.  He reached forward with two claws and grabbed the women by their throats.  Perhaps he applied a little more pressure than he had intended, but it achieved the desired result.  

A short while later both women were suited and floating just above Moya's vast hull.  Jools held a large vat filled with the potion while Dee-leigha gently rubbed the viscous substance into the worst affected areas.  Moya was enormous and the pot was very small.  They had hardly covered a three square metra before they ran out.  

"This is pointless," Jools moaned.  "We're going to be doing this forever."

"Nonsense," said the old woman through gritted teeth.  "It'll take a solar day or two at most."

Jools stared at her in disbelief.  

As it turned out, they only made five more trips before the ingredients for the cream ran out.   

Dee-leigha and Jools returned to Pilot's den.   The heat had increased since they were last inside.

"Pilot, we've run out.  We need to do something else.  It's getting terribly hot in here now," said Dee-leigha.

"I know.  I've assigned all the DRDs to mending the conduits and sealing all the leaks but Moya is vast and the DRDs can't be everywhere."

"I know.  I'm sorry Pilot."  Dee-leigha patted his claw.

Jools slid to the floor and stared across the chamber.  After a microt she turned back to Pilot and asked, "couldn't we use the bat dren?  You once said it washed through some of Moya's systems helping to repair cracks and fissures.  Well maybe if we helped spread it around a bit, it might speed up Moya' healing.  It would certainly stop some of the smaller leaks turning into bigger ones."

"Joolushka, that is a marvelous idea.  Thank you."  Pilot tapped a few buttons on the console.  "Ah.  It would appear there's a problem."

"What is it Pilot?" Jools asked slowly.

"The pumps aren't working."

"Why did I just know you were going to say that.  Come on old woman.  Time for your mud-bath."

"My name is Dee-leigha.  And I have many cycles ahead of me.   Do you?"

"Oh, be quiet," Jools hissed and stalked out.  Dee-leigha followed, a smile on her face.

The task was even more unpleasant than Jools had feared it would be.  Pilot's instructions on how to make a make-shift pump were easily followed.  The problem came with installation.  To get it into place Jools and Dee-leigha had to wade through the sewage and, wearing improvised diving seat, duck into the dren and switch their suction tubes for the damaged ones.  Each tube took several dives to be detached and as many again to connect the new ones.   

Their efforts were rewarded.  Once the effluence began to flow around Moya, Pilot was relieved to note a slight easing in her  pain and a definite drop in temperature.  

----------------------------------------------

Twenty-five solar days later and Moya was once again operational.  The lights kept going on and off and the doors seemed to have developed a life of their own but other than that, she had regained considerable control.  Her outer hull was still sore and a few patches, where the burns had been worst were beginning to come away, but Moya could now starburst if danger threatened.

An alarm sounded.  Pilot reached forward and tapped a small flashing red button on the console in front of him and the wail stopped.  He assigned a couple of DRDs to the task of tracking down and fixing the malfunction.  Pilot was sometimes unsure whether the ringing sounds he heard were real or the result of damage Jools' wormhole scream had caused his ears.  

He sighed as the girl came rushing into Command.

"Pilot, I heard a siren," she said.

"Yes, Joolushka. Another false alarm.  I can't seem to trace what's causing these problems."

The lights went out.

"Pilot-"

"No Joolushka, the DRDs haven't fixed that yet either."

"Oh.  Any idea when they will?"

"I expect everything to be operational when the DRDs have repaired the problem," Pilot answered.

Jools pulled a face.  She stood looking at him for a microt and then blurted out, "Pilot, you aren't really going to turn into Crichton and spend you life chasing wormholes are you?"

Pilot didn't answer.  He knew his earlier brave talk had been foolish.  It was too late to save his friend.  He sighed.  

"Pilot," continued Jools, "we can't help Crichton anymore.  It's just you, me and Wrinkles.  We can go anywhere we want and I want to go home.  You can drop me off and then you and the old woman can go chasing wormholes all you like."

"I'm sorry Joolushka.  You're right.  I guess I've just got used to having Commander Crichton and the others around.  Moya and I have never been alone before.  I find the idea a little," he paused, searching for the right word.  He settled for "strange."

The lights came back on.  Pilot had no more idea how that had happened than he had why they'd gone out in the first place.  

"Oh dear."

"What?"

"We're going to have a visitor," Pilot said with a weary sigh.

"What? Who? Peacekeepers?"

"No, Moya is picking up the call of-"

"-What the hezmana is that?" Jools interrupted, pointing at a grey smoke tendril that puffed from the far wall and began to swirl in the centre of the den.  The wisp of smoke transformed itself into a white robe man.  She opened her mouth to scream but, for once, thought better of it.

Kahaynu appeared.  "Greetings Pilot, I bring you news from John Crichton."  

"If this is some kind of sick joke," muttered Jools, edging closer to Pilot.

"Shush Joolushka.  You are in the presence of Moya's deity."

"You know this guy?" Jools asked.

Pilot ignored her.  "Greetings Kahaynu.  Moya also bids you welcome.  She thanks you for your succour and glad news."   

"So _is _Commander Crichton really alive?" Jools chipped in.

"Tsk!" Clucked Pilot.

"I come to ask Moya for her help.  I have an orphaned leviathan in need of a mother.  I am offering Moya the chance to fill that role," Kahaynu intoned in a flat voice.

"The Gods want to entrust a young leviathan to Moya's care?" Pilot asked in a whisper.

"I was tasked with the arrangements.  The need is urgent so I must press you for a response.  The creature is but a monen old and she can not be left unsupervised for long."

"Moya says she is honoured to be considered, and accepts the request with joy.  She thanks you, as do I."  

"Good.  John Crichton has offered to arrange Alice's transfer here."  Kahaynu frowned briefly as he pronounced the nick-name Crichton had given the baby.

"Alice?" Enquired Pilot

"A moniker bestowed on her by Crichton.  He suggested Moya might like to name her formally.  He said he didn't feel right doing it. "

"Moya feels sure Commander Crichton would choose a good name but she believe the leviathan will already have a name and will ask the child if she remembers it before choosing another."

"Crichton's not coming with her, is he?" Jools asked Kahaynu.

"No. The human has elected to remain where he is.  He is currently making arrangements for his own future."

"So how is this leviathan going to come and join us, just hang around until a convenient portal opens?"

"Commander Crichton has been working on a four-dimensional geometrical framework that unites the three dimensions of space and the dimension of time.  He hopes to create a wormhole at the point identified by the four coordinates." Kahaynu explained.

Jools furrowed her brow. "I have no idea what you're talking about so let me make sure of one thing.  You are not suggesting we go back through a wormhole?"

"No.  The young creature will come to you.  Pilot will need to provide Moya's precise position.  Crichton will then add that data to his calculations.  He believes this will give him the correct trajectory for the leviathan to use.  I have agreed to help guide it through the wormhole."

"You know about wormholes?" Jools asked.  She was beginning to loathe the word 'wormhole'. 

"Kahaynu have no need for such knowledge.  I shall accompany her as she is in my charge."

After Kahaynu had gone, Jools turned to Pilot and said, "perhaps you can confirm something for me.  These wormholes, if I remember rightly are shortcuts, or tunnels, that link the universe to another universe or to another location in the universe.  Yes?"

Pilot nodded.  By the look on her face and tone of her voice, he had a good idea what was coming next.

"And I'm right in also thinking that they could theoretically do something else too?"

There it was!  Pilot sighed.  "Yes.  If I have understood Commander Crichton correctly, the curved interior of a wormhole may also open out again into another space-time, that is in another universe _and_ in a different time."

"Aha.  I thought so.  So not only have we travelled millions of metras in a matter of microts, we may have also gathered a bit of speed and managed to shoot out before we actually went in?"

"Yes.  Exactly."

"Pilot, we are here when we should be here, aren't we?" Jools asked quietly.

"Ah, well, there may be a small problem there."

"PILOT!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Crichton was waiting for his supplies to be loaded onto Farscape 1.   He had made three trips from G'Amba 9 so far and had at least two more to go.  While he waited, he had taken the opportunity to rest up and eat again.  He was sat in a diner, a natural cave, with a glass of minty mouthwash and an empty bowl in front of him.  Crichton yawned.  The place was dark, damp and humid.  It was filled with pilots, traders and technicians all jostling and loudly arguing with each other for a space at the bar.   Crichton looked across the room towards the door.  As he did so, a man step through the door and look directly at him.  By the focused look in his eyes, Crichton reckoned the man recognised him.  The man entered the diner and Crichton instantly lost sight of him in the crowd.

"Blasted wanted beacons," he cursed softly.  

A microt later he felt a tap on his shoulder and pulse pistol shoved between his shoulder blades.  

"Step outside with us friend," a low voice whispered in his ear.

Crichton was about to decline with his fist when another voice whispered from the other side.  "Don't."   

Crichton looked around to see Angor and Rassik stood  either side of him,  both carried gleaming serrated blades in one hand and pulse pistols in the other.  

Angor pocketed his weapons, yanked Crichton from his chair and quickly propelled him outside.  He was dragged round the side of the diner before being hauled up the side of the cliff.  He cried out as his body bounced against the jagged rock.  Finally, he was shoved forwards into an unlit recess in the rock face.  There was a small drop and he landed with a muffled thud.  Inside, it smelt like it was used as a garbage dump and worse.  He was just about to say as much when he was grabbed again and his arms pinned behind him.  He tried to resist but he still felt incredibly weak and he gave up almost immediately.  He still found the mere act of standing without support a bit of an effort.  

He looked around and dimly made out the shape of a man in front of him.   As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw he was facing the man he had seen earlier in the diner's doorway.  He had the strongest feeling he recognized him, but the memory remained just out of reach.  

Harvey whispered into his ear. "You do know him.  So do I.  That is former Lieutenant Velorak of the Science Corps."

"Velorak? Are you sure?"   

"Yes.  Scorpius reviewed his file when he came across the name in Aeryn Sun's personal records.  He didn't die.  It would appear that, like you, he was too valuable an asset to loose.  He belonged to the Millan Astrey.  They rescued him while he was being transferred.  Paid a high price in men but I can't say I blame them.  He was one of our most gifted scientific researchers.  He hadn't been in the Chair and had told us virtually nothing."

Crichton gave an involuntary shudder at the mention of the Aurora Chair.  He turned to look again at the man sat across from him. "Who are the Millan Astrey?"  He asked aloud.

Before Harvey could answer, Velorak sprung forward and pressed his knife to Crichton's throat.  What's the game human?"

"'Scuse me," he answered lightly, "but I was enjoying a quiet meal until your goons showed up."  Crichton jerked his head slightly to indicate the two battle-scarred Sebaceans holding his arms in a vice-like grip behind him. "I think I'm owed an explanation for this outrageous behaviour."

"I owe you nothing.  You're lucky to still be breathing," Velorak snarled through gritted teeth.  "Now, let's try again.  Why are you here?"

Crichton felt his arms being pulled further back and his right shoulder felt dangerous close to popping out of its socket.  He ignored it.  "No!  I've had enough.  I'm fed up with people pointing guns at me and demanding I do as I'm told.  You want information or help. You ask!  Nicely."  Crichton clamped his mouth shut, willed himself to remain upright and held Velorak's gaze.  

Velorak broke the contact.   He pulled a small gleaming dagger from his belt and tested its tip against his palm.  A small globule of blood appeared.  He looked back at Crichton, his eyes taking in every detail of the tall, pale man in front of him.  After a moment his shoulders visibly relaxed.  When he spoke again his voice was softer. "Look at you, you're pathetic.  I could kill you in an instant but I'd rather not.  Now, come on, tell us the truth and then we'll let you be on your way."

"Tell your goons to let go of me."  

Velorak nodded his head and Crichton was immediately free.

"My name is Angor," he said, "call me a goon, whatever that is, again and I'll break your neck."

 "_Thank you_ Angor.  Now John Crichton, exactly why are you here?" said Velorak.

"Not that it's any of your business but I'm here for food and fuel only.  Getting frelled was not on my list."

"Prove it?"

"Why should I?"  Crichton felt the grip on his arms tighten at his answer. 

"You take a lot of risks with your life human."

"Yeah, it's a bad habit of mine."  

"Where's Aeryn?" Velorak asked changing tack.

"Where's Aeryn?" Crichton echoed with a short cold laugh, "ah, if I knew that I'd be a very happy man.  I might as well ask you the same question."

"So you admit you knew she was coming to us?"

"What?  No!  She's here?" Crichton gasped, his mind reeling.

"Not now.  I had a man following her.  She disappeared about 18 arns ago and didn't show up at our rendezvous point.  I've got scouts out looking for her now.  I thought she'd frelled me over again.  But if you're here?  What's the game?"

"Disappeared?  She _was_ here?" Crichton spluttered as he finally caught up with the conversation.

 "Yes.  She said you were dead."  

"I am."  

Velorak looked puzzled for a microt and then said, "so why are you here?  I got the impression she was running away from you."

"I love her."  

Velorak gave Crichton a long look and said, "yes, you like you do."  He met Crichton's eyes and smiled.  "For her sake as well as your own, tell me again, how did you come to be here?"

Crichton didn't know what to say.  Three cycles had taught him doubt and he was no longer as trusting of strangers as he had once been.  "Do I have a choice?" He asked.

"Of course.  You can talk to me or I can have Angor here snap your neck.  Which is it to be?"

Crichton sighed.  "I got separated from my ship.  I was picked up by a leviathan with no supplies on board.  I'm here to remedy that and to see about new transport.  I had no idea you or Aeryn were here."

"Leviathan?  Moya?"

"No.  Moya, er Moya, got called away.  I'm on another ship but that's only temporary.  Don't 'spose you've got a spare transporter I could borrow?" he added with a rye smile.

Velorak looked like he was about to hit Crichton but he relaxed his stance and returned the smile.  "I find I believe you Human.  

Make yourself comfortable.  You're going nowhere until I've had your story checked out."

Crichton's arms and legs were bound and his mouth gagged and then he was left alone.  He hopped towards the outline of the exit and poked his head through.  

"Going somewhere?" a voice asked.

Crichton looked up and saw Angor sat just above the cave's entrance, pointing a  pulse rifle at his head.  Crichton withdrew and sat down inside the cave.  After several arns he stood up.  His arms and legs were growing numb and he tried to wiggle them within the confines of their tight bonds.  Then he waited some more.  Crichton felt himself drifting asleep. He woke with a start as he heard noises coming from outside his prison.  

Velorak scrambled through the entrance, and stood over Crichton .  "What are you doing with an unbonded leviathan?" He barked and pulled the gag from Crichton's mouth.

"She rescued me.  I told you.  I got separated from Moya.  This little lady gave me a lift."

"So why is she so damaged?  Her outer hull is a mass of dents and fractures."

"Little missy's a bit too inquisitive for her own good.  She flew into an asteroid field.   Some of the stuff I'm getting is for her.

"Yes.  I know.  What do you intend to do with the leviathan?"

Crichton suspected Velorak wanted her.  "She's going away.  She has an appointment with someone.  I wouldn't try to interfere if I were you.  Could get messy."

"You're in no position to threaten me.  Perhaps we can help each other," Velorak said.

"She is not for sale."

"You misjudge me."  

"Do I?"

"Human, I should not be here right now.  I have business elsewhere and you and your leviathan threaten that business.  I  need you and her as far away from here as possible.  If I tell you what happened to Aeryn Sun will you leave immediately?"

"Aeryn? What have you found out? Where is she?" 

"It appears a bounty hunter got her."

"Peacekeeper?"

"Charrid, with the Scarrens picking up the tab."

Crichton shuddered.  Bile rose in his throat and for a microt he thought he was going to throw up.  

"She's dead Crichton, or as good as."

"So we do nothing?"

"As I said I have other business to attend to.  Your presence as I have said jeopardizes that.  And I am sure you will want to be swiftly on your way when I tell you a delegation of Peacekeepers are on their way here right now."  

"Aren't you afraid Aeryn'll sell you out again."

"Despite previous experience to the contrary I do not believe Aeryn Sun will betray me to the Charrids and even if she tries, the Charrids know I am more use to them alive.  They may not be the brightest strategists but they are not without some wits.  They know I'm more use to them in my current situation.  And if I were to see Aeryn Sun again then I would be obliged to kill her.  I made myself plain when she asked to join us."

"You don't care what happens to her?"

"Human, if the Charrids hadn't picked her up, the man I had tailing her had instructions to kill her for desertion.  By rights I should kill you too but because I _do_ care I'm going to let you go.  But I will not lift a finger to help you find her.  Take my advice, it is too late to save her."

"I don't care.  I'm going to find her even if it is too late.  Can't you forgive her?"

"I will not sacrifice my squad for her."  

"She needs our help Velorak."

"The Millan Astrey will not interfere in this.  It is not our business."  

"Well at least let me know if you hear anything-"

"If I can.  I hope you find her. "  Velorak turned to go, paused and spun back round to face Crichton.   "There's something else you should probably know."

"What's that?"

"Aeryn's pregnant.  Your child I assume?  Is that why you're looking for her?" 

"She told you?"

Velorak hesitated, "No.  I found out by other means."

"Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit."  Crichton didn't know whether to laugh or cry at having the old woman's words confirmed.  

-------------------------------------------------

As soon as his feet hit the leviathan's docking bay floor, Crichton bent over and threw up everything he had so carefully put into it earlier on the planet.  He stood for a moment, arms over his head staring vacantly at the ground.  The Builders' not-so-white gown and sensible-sandaled feet swung into view. 

A finger entered Crichton's vision pointing towards the pavement pizza at his feet.  "What is that?"  Kahaynu asked.  

"Lunch," he replied with a loud sigh as he straightened up.  "I have supplies.  Do we have DRDs yet?"  

"Yes, a few.  They are now completing the repairs to the damaged power conduits.  We are almost functional."

"And Pilot and Moya?  Did you find them?  Are they okay?"

"Yes.  They are both relieved to know that you are alive.  I have the data you requested."

"Good but there's been a change of plan.  I need to ask them to do something for me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pilot, Jools and the old woman were once again in the presence of Moya's deity.  

"Tell Commander Crichton we will oblige."

"I am not going back through a wormhole Pilot.  I'm surprised you could even suggest such a thing.  And Crichton for that matter!  What about Moya?  Hasn't she suffered enough?  What is wrong with you?"  Jools stamped her foot and pouted.  

"Is wormhole travel really so dangerous?" Dee-leigha asked.  "Perhaps if I made us some–"

"Oh shut up.  People who go through wormholes tend to end up liquefied.  It's _horrible!"_

"Joolushka.  The decision has been made.  Moya wishes to rejoin Commander Crichton.  I am worried by her choice but I understand why she wishes to do it," Pilot said.

"But it's ridiculous.  Okay, so this time we didn't melt or go back in time, but who knows what might happen next time.  We could all die.  I don't want to die Pilot."  

"You could take a transport pod if you wish," he replied.

"There's nothing in range and you know that."

"I am sorry Joolushka, but Moya is adamant.  She feels she should be the one to risk the wormhole again, not the baby.  She will not change her mind."  

Jools put her hands to her face and shook her head.  She knew she was an intelligent Interon but this was beyond her.  

"There is also the question of helping Crichton.  Moya is worried by the news of Aeryn's capture." 

Jools lowered her hands and looked at Pilot.  His expression remained unchanged.  "Okay, I give up. I leave it to you."

"Thank you Joolushka." 

Jools rolled her eyes, turned sharply on her heels and left the Den.  "Perhaps a nice long soak," she mused.

After she'd gone, Pilot sat still for a few moments and asked aloud, "are you really sure you want to do this Moya?" Then he  bent his head forward, his four arms punching out a long sequence of codes, as he began to access the new data Crichton had requested for his calculations.  He was tired.  It had already taken him several days to calculate, via the position of the identifiable stars, their precise location.  This had at least shown that they hadn't travelled back in time.  Or at least if they had, it wasn't the 22 cycles showing on Moya's systems register.   This new list of even more complex algorithms and technical data would take twice as long for him to put together.  

Pilot could feel Moya's impatience to get going and he had to concentrate very hard not to rush his calculations.  He was painfully aware that if he made one mistake he could be responsible for all their deaths.  A small bead of sweat appeared on his forehead.  A DRD shot out a long metal arm and dabbed it away with a cloth.   

He got them finished eventually and Kahaynu took them back to Crichton,  returning only a few microts later with a detailed flight trajectory and navigational matrix for Pilot to configure and input.  Pilot almost groaned aloud but he completed the task in under six arns.  The effort had drained him and his head drooped momentarily.  Pilot pushed himself erect and took a deep breath.   

"Moya is in position and we're ready to go.  Stand by," he called out.   A microt later, Moya, encircled by a swirling grey mist, swung sharply into the curve.   Pilot hit the final sequence of code and Moya entered the wormhole.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And next…


	8. Ch8: Bloodquest

Ch9: BLOODQUEST  

**All about D'Argo, Macton Tal and Oricans.  Some of it may even count as D'Argo angst!  **

D'Argo's ship docked undetected on the underside of the Peacekeeper transporter's hull.  There was a brief sound of metal scraping against metal and a soft thud as the two ships made contact.  Using his qualta blade, D'Argo cut his way into the other ship's hold.  The rusty metal cut-out fell forward and landed on the ground with a ringing crash that set his pulse racing.  He stood motionless in the dark waiting to hear the sound of boots rushing towards him.  All he heard were his hearts thumping in his chest and condensation from overhead pipes splashing onto the metal floor.  He stepped into the hold, flicked on his torch and swung it around to see exactly where he was and where the exit might be.  

At first glance the storage bay looked empty but as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark he noticed the outline of a lifting machine with several enormous skips near by.  He moved slowly forward swinging his torch in a wide arc, his metal tipped boots making a soft clip-clop sound as they hit the ground.  

Qualta blade in one hand and torch in the other, he continued walking until an access door appeared at the edge of the light's beam.   He pushed against the hatch.  It refused to open.  He tugged on the lever at its side but it wouldn't budge.  D'Argo swore under his breath, swung his qualta blade over his shoulder and put down the torch.  Gripping the recalcitrant handle with both hands, he gave it a huge pull and added a satisfied grunt as he felt it twist towards him.  He picked up the torch, switched it off and tucked it into his pocket.  He retrieved his qualta blade and gave the door an experimental nudge with his foot.  It still didn't open so he gave it a solid heave with his shoulder.  The hatch flew wide open and D'Argo pitched forwards into the dimly lit corridor on the other side.  He regained his balance in an instant and glanced quickly left and right checking he was still undetected.   

The passageway was empty and seemed to stretch for metras in both directions.  D'Argo didn't have a clue which way he should be going.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a marked silver coin.  He tossed the coin in the air and caught it in his hand, pressing it down on top of his other hand as he had so often seen John do.  He lifted his hand away and peered at the result.  It was the side with the intricate lettering.  D'Argo decided that meant he should go right.  

Keeping his back to the wall and his qualta blade at the ready, D'Argo crept along the corridor.  Alongside the soft tap of his boots on the corridor floor, his ears picked up the low throb of the generators.  The tier seemed deserted and D'Argo slunk through the ship unchallenged.  He reached the end of the corridor and found himself at a set of steep metal stairs which seemed to rise through the entire ship.  He stopped, listened intently and made out the faint echo of footsteps coming from way above him.  He decided to risk bumping into the owner coming the other way and tiptoed up the stairs, pausing every so often to check his wasn't about to be discovered.  After climbing several flights, the footsteps died away and D'Argo began to move more quickly up the ships' tiers.  

Reaching the upper decks, he pushed through a swing door and found himself in a well lit, narrow white corridor with a number of doors leading off it.  The smell of sebacean mint stew permeated the air and listening carefully he could just make out the sound of laughter coming from the other end of the hall.  As he was about to move off, he heard the unmistakable heavy thud of footsteps coming up the stairway behind him.  He dashed to the door closest to him and slipped through the unlocked door into a pitch-black room.  He gave the air a cautious sniff but didn't detect anyone else in there with him.  A bead of sweat formed on his brow as the solid crunch of metal tipped boots grew louder.  He held his breath as the sound reached his door.  The footsteps reached his door and continued passed him.  D'Argo let out a small sigh of relief and breathing heavily, he slipped out of his hiding place and continued towards the far end of the corridor.  He picked up the sound of more laughter floating down the hall.  Gripping his blade with both hands, D'Argo marched forward until he was just outside the open door where the noise was coming from.  He listened carefully.  He heard two male voices, one of which he instantly recognised.  It was Macton and he was expounding on the superiority of Sebaceans to any other race.  

He pushed back his shoulders, took a deep breath and raised his qualta blade in front of him.  D'Argo curled his lip as cycles of rage erupted.  Shouting an ancient Luxan battle cry, he flung himself through the open door.  The two men inside turned to face him.  With one swift arc of his blade he had felled the stranger, who slumped to the floor, a pool of blood seeping from his body.  Without pausing, D'Argo spun round and smashed his blade into the back of Macton's skull, splitting it open and spraying blood, bone and brain across the room.  D'Argo swung again and again, hacking at his enemy even as the body fell to the ground.   Weeping freely, he wiped the gore from his face, reached down and flopped the body onto its back.  Through tear-blurred vision he saw Lolann's blood splattered face looking up at him.

D'Argo woke with a cry.  His cheeks were wet and his eyes still brimmed with tears.  He pushed back the blanket, tugged his wrap around his broad chest and stood up.  He wandered up the cabin to the main controls, opening a bottle of raslak on his way.  He slumped into the padded seat and took a long swig.  The dream had unsettled him.  It was the same dream he had had the last time he had tried to rest, and the time before that and the time before that as well.   

The ship sped through space, its dark grey metallic surface barely discernable against the black space surrounding it.  Inside D'Argo sat staring at the controls, lost in his thoughts.   The ship mostly seemed able to fly itself, which was a good thing, as he still hadn't worked out what half the controls actually did.  Not that that had stopped him from charting a course directly out of the Uncharted Territories into Peacekeeper controlled space once he had dropped off Chiana and Rygel at Xelp Xelp 77.   

D'Argo took another pull on his drink and thought back a monen to that sweltering sun-bleached dren-hole.  The three of them had lingered at the bottom of his ship's steps looking at their hands and not quite knowing how to behave or what to say.  Even the Hynerian had been subdued.  Chiana had begun crying long before she had flung herself against his body, words of advice and caution bubbling forth between sobs as she squeezed him tightly.  Their relationship was over but D'Argo still cared very much for Chiana and his eyes had glistened with tears of his own.  She was the first woman he had loved since Lolann and she would always be important to him, even her behaviour with Jothee couldn't change that.  D'Argo sighed at the recollection of his son.  He had failed him and he didn't know if he could ever put it right.  He would have liked to know Jothee was okay or if he needed anything.  If he had known where he was, he would have invited him to join his bloodquest.  Perhaps once Macton was dead he could try to find him again and they could start over.  

His mind drifted onto his parting with John and Aeryn.  That had only been slightly less painful than saying goodbye to Chiana but he was also relieved to be away from the pair of them.  Their suffering, so clearly visible on both their faces, had been hard to live with and their stilted and awkward behaviour in each other's company had put a strain on everyone.  D'Argo was glad to be free of it.  He would dearly like to see them happy together or at least happy but there had been nothing he could do to help either of them.  He hadn't understood Aeryn's decision to leave but he respected it and hoped she had found some peace on her own.  D'Argo raised the raslak to his lips and drained the bottle.  He missed the human most of all.  In the past half cycle he had come to rely on Crichton.  Sure they'd argued but John had always been there for him and was always ready to sit down and open a bottle.  "Shooing the cat' he'd called it.  D'Argo reached under his seat and pulled out a fresh drink.  He opened it, raised it up and wished good fortune to his absent friend.  He took a long draw before setting the bottle on the floor.  

Rising slowly, he walked back to his make-shift bed.  He pulled his qualta blade from underneath the discarded blanket and returned to his seat.  He picked a small red cloth lying on the control console and began rubbing his weapon.  Tomorrow he would visit the Orican to ask that she perform the Xauen Rites so that his bloodquest would be favoured by the gods.  He would ask her about the dream afterwards.  Oricans were well known and respected diviners of dreams.  It was probably nothing, just too much tension.  He chuckled at the idea, settled back in the chair and closed his eyes.  He was finally about to embark on the most important journey of his life, a journey he had dreamt about making for cycles.  He should savour the moment.  He remained motionless for a few microts and then his eyes shot open and he sat forward in his chair.  

"If this is so important and so great, why do I feel so frelling miserable," he wondered aloud.  The desire to avenge his wife's death and to expose Macton Tal as the real murderer had sustained him through 8 cycles of chained imprisonment.  Why did it not satisfy him now.  He realized it was because Jothee was not there with him.  Somehow, he had always imagined undertaking the Xauen Rites with his son by his side, sharing the ordeal together.  "Well I blew that one,"  he sighed.

----------------------------------------------------

D'Argo set off for the Temple early.  He landed on the planet as two golden suns rose in a lavender sky and he began his trek immediately.  The air was  warm although a cool breeze blew across his face.  Marching over the lush green fields surrounding him, he made for the only hill on the horizon.  The Orican lived at the top and all visitors were required to arrive on foot.  

The walk took several arns and the climb up the steep hill at the end left him hot, sticky and in need of a cool drink.  He had begun his journey with hair neatly braided and his qualta blade gleaming.  He presented himself to the Orican's attendant at the temple gates in a slightly more dishevelled state.  His tunic had acquired grass stains, his boots were caked in mud and a few of his carefully tied braids had come apart.  His qualta blade was still immaculate, however, and glinted in the strong morning sunshine.  

A red robed Luxan Gate Keeper gave him a slow, deliberate once over before jotting something onto his notepad.  D'Argo hoped his tattoos weren't going to cause trouble again.  He gave his name and reason for wishing to see the priestess.  The attendant waved him through and D'Argo walked under the stone archway into the temple's waiting chamber.  The temple was a small, octagonal stone built building with eight narrow windows and a vaulted ceiling.  Symbolic carvings of great Luxan oricans and their visions covered the walls.  The way to the Orican's inner sanctum was through a small archway opposite the main entrance.  Otec lamps burned above both.  In the centre of the chamber was a huge chimney with a roaring fire, its flames dancing wildly every time the wind blew.  Several Luxans were gathered round it, each silently staring into the flames.  D'Argo joined them and stood for a moment basking in the simple pleasure of being with other luxans.  No one spoke.  D'Argo was desperate to talk to these people and ask them for news about home but no one met his gaze and he didn't like to invade their devotions.  One by one the small group was escorted by an attendant into the inner sanctum for their audience with the priestess.  He began pacing around the room, impatient for his turn and eager to be on his way.  

"Ka D'Argo?" 

"Yes?" D'Argo looked down and found a small luxan woman beside him.  She wore the long red robes of an Orican's companion and her tenta were tied with red ribbon. 

"Come.  Palenthia is ready for you now."  The woman inclined her head and gestured for D'Argo to follow her.

D'Argo nodded and followed her through the archway into the inner chamber.  It was an exact replica of the waiting area except for the alter against one wall.  Hung above, a large otec lamp burned incense filling the air with a heavy perfume.  The Orican stood close by, reading from a small purple book.  Her tenta were piled up on her head in elaborate curls and she wore an elaborate multi-coloured robe with a crimson cummerbund around the waist.  She snapped the book shut and turned to face him, dismissing her attendant with a slight wave of a heavily jewelled hand.    

D'Argo walked up to the Orican, bowed deeply, laid his qualta blade at her feet and took two steps backwards.  "Hail Palenthia, Ka D'Argo son of Lataar, grandson of Rexaar, great-grandson of Ka D'Argo Trataar, bows before you."

The luxan priestess nodded her head, acknowledging his greeting.  

"Oh holy Orican, hear my plea, know that my cause is just and bless my vengeance." 

"Ah yes, the warrior.  You desire to avenge the murder of your wife.  You wish me to perform the Xauen Rites and bless your bloodquest."  

D'Argo nodded.

"I have consulted the oracles.  I will not do it.  Your quest will fail."

"What!" D'Argo spluttered, his eyes flashing.  This was not what he had expected to hear.

Palenthia raised her hands to silence him.  "You know this.  You have dreamt of your failure.  No, do not try to deny it."  She wagged a finger at him.  "You have other duties Ka D'Argo.  These must be discharged before the powers will favour your bloodquest.  If you wish for success you must aid a friend in need."

D'Argo's shoulders slumped and his face fell.  He had pinned so much on getting the Orican's blessing and the refusal cut him to the quick.

Palenthia smiled at him.  "Do not grieve warrior.  The powers are kind to you.  Accept my words and see the truth."

D'Argo shook his head.  He couldn't believe that he was being told to abandon his mission.  He would not do it.  He could not do it.

"Heed me, Ka D'Argo.  If you do not follow the path laid out for you, you will surely live to regret it.  Come, let me show you."  The Orican beckoned him to join her at the alter.  She lit a tall blue candle and waited for D'Argo.

He walked across the floor to stand beside her.  He turned to face her, fear in his eyes.

Without a word, the Orican plunged her hands into his chest sending his body into spasms.  He staggered.  Waves of searing pain swept through him until blinding, inconceivable agony gripped his entire body.  He felt as if he was on fire.  He fell to his knees but Palenthia kept her hands wedged inside his chest.  D'Argo gritted his teeth and did not cry out.  Beads of sweat formed on his brow as he fought the to remain conscious.  The room began to swirl, bright lights flashing in front of him and he closed his eyes, willing the ordeal over.  When the Orican finally removed her hands, he sank to the floor panting.  The vision she had shown him had gone from his mind and he could not recall any of it but the sense of horror it had generated remained vividly stamped on his consciousness.  He looked up at the Priestess in mute supplication.

"The choice is yours warrior,"  she told him.  "Now leave me, I must rest."

D'Argo staggered through the main circular chamber in a daze and emerged blinking into the bright mid day light.   He wondered what other duties had she meant?  His son?  No, she'd said friend.  Chiana?  Crichton?  D'Argo swore loudly and at length.

Feeling only marginally better he considered his options.  He could carry on.  The gods favour wasn't necessary for him to hunt down and kill Macton but that would be all it would be, a kill.  D'Argo didn't want that.  It was a question of honour for the deceased.  A bloodquest was the highest calling for a Luxan warrior and D'Argo wanted to prove his worth.   He wasn't superstitious but he was still a Luxan and he respected his heritage and customs.  A bloodquest had to be blessed through the mysterious rites or it wasn't a bloodquest.  It was simply vengeance.  D'Argo growled.  There was nothing else for it he was going to have to retrace his steps and go back to find out who he was supposed to help.   "I bet its John, the welnik," he said aloud.  "He's a frelling disaster magnet."  Inside, he was praying it wasn't Chiana.  If she had got herself into trouble it was almost certain to be ugly and he knew he'd end up cross, disappointed and hurt.  

He gave a hefty donation to the attendant at the entrance and began the long walk back to his ship.  "At least it's downhill this time," he muttered to himself.

-------------------------------------------

It is now time to complete our ensemble and catch up with the real Butch and Sundance (yes, that right, Chiana and Rygel finally enter our story)


End file.
